If only she'd shut up!

I want pancakes, who wants some pancakes?

2011-04-03T00:11:00.000-07:00

Hey there!

This is going to be incredibly short.

I started a new blog, and here it is !

I'm sure it's more than lame, but I'm hoping it serves the dual purpose of chronicling my egg donation process and getting my back into the swing of not only writing, but writing on a regular basis.

:)

Hello...is it me you're looking for

2011-03-08T21:12:00.000-08:00

I didn't realize it had been so long since I'd written in here. There's been so much that has happened, and I've been internalizing. As I am wont to do. So, here's as much of it as I can write down.

The main squeeze and I broke up. Twice. We are still living together, and plan on living together for the next year. It's easier for our son, easier for both of us, and it's just the decision that works best for us. I hope, anyway. It's hard, for me anyway, to live with him right now, since I miss physical intimacy more than I ever could have anticipated. And I'm not talking about just sex, though I miss sex as well. I miss cuddling and hugs and smooches and sleeping next to someone and it's kind of emotionally wreaking havoc on me. But I'd miss it more if I lived alone, so....whatever, I guess.

I quit my job, and my last day is next Friday the 18th. I cannot stand it there anymore. It was giving me agida. I tried to talk myself out of it, but on a particularly rough day, I just fucking snapped and put in my month's notice. I gave them a month because I'm a kind girl, and I hate feeling like I'm leaving anyone in a lurch, even if those particular anyones are soulless, bloodsucking, dream stealing cuntwads. Because of major event number one, my plans had changed regarding major event number three, soon to follow. I had to ask them for my job back with shortened hours. I was supposed to know last Monday and have yet to hear anything, despite my prompting them for an answer. So, I've been under the assumption they are too cowardly to tell me they won't let me keep my job and I should just find another, so I've been avidly job hunting. Nothing fruitful has really shown up. I sent in my resume and was asked to come formally apply to one position (which would involve a three dollar an hour raise), and I haven't heard anything back. But it's only Tuesday, and I applied Friday. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

I start cosmetology school in a month and a half, and I couldn't be more excited. I've always wanted to do this for myself, and I'm finally going to. Hooray!

I lostt a very dear friend, but the truth is, I'm not fucked up over it at all. So I guess all I can gather is she wasn't very dear at all. I suppose it's a shame, but life is too short to be sad over something like this. Not everyone I befriend sticks around. Shit happens.

Allen and I move into a three bedroom townhouse in three days. It's fantastic, and I love it.

We got a new kitten, her name is Fella. She's stupid and adorable.

My very very very bestest friend in the whole wide world ever will have her baby in less than a month, and I couldn't be more excited.

And finally, I like someone, I think. He makes it more complicated than it has to be, even though he says he likes me a lot. It's so easy sometimes to generalize and say I hate men. But it's a lie. I fucking adore them.

That's the nutshell.

STMLTYOLB - In stunning technicolor!

2010-11-19T08:34:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again...since I've been an unfaithful little worker bee...just hanging out behind the hive, smoking cloves and ignoring everyone with a look of smug self-satisfaction about what a bunch of suckers everyone else is.

There's been a lot going on, most of it sort of unpleasant. Some of it has been nice...some of it has been confusing. But those descriptions are neither here nor there.

I know I've featured a song of theirs before, but I went and saw Muse in concert a month and a half ago, and tey blew my mind away so fucking hard that they are amost all I listen to. Other music sucks in comparison.

So, here we go.

One thing that I've always had a very passionate love/hate relationship with about myself is my imagination. This baby takes me on wild rides that are heavenly, and then when reality hits me, I come crashing down to a dark and bitter place. Most of these mind scenarios involve boys. Because I'm a girl, you see. Before I get caried away, alow me to introduce today's STMILTYOLB (songs to make imaginary love to your old lady by) -

A SONG FOR WHEN YOU NEED A SOUNDTRACK TO THE "HOLY SHIT, i KNOW HE FEELS IT, TOO AND THIS IS HOW IT WOULD PLAY OUT" FANTASY IN YOUR GIRLY, RIDICULOUS BRAIN

By: Muse

( I can tell by Matt Bellamy's crazed hair and bemused expression that he's probably indulging in a few fevered by fantasies. About light sabers)

Song : Undisclosed Desires

Like I was saying, I almost daily stop what I'm doing and daydream about various boys harboring various secret feelings about me. It helps me pass the time, plus it's fun to stroke my own ego for a little bit.

This song almost always spurs these daydreams on, and here's why. In real life, i heft around a shitload of ugly baggage. I'm a mess, and a sad one at that. When I hear this song, i want somebody to want me so much in spite of all of this, and on top of that, I want them to be heavily burdened by the desire to fix me. To KNOW that I have a lot of ugliness behind these sexy eyeballs, and want to take it all away. Furthermore, to call me out on my bullshit and simultaneously assure me that it's all ok, that I'm special, and that their only goal is to make me better.

It's almost like White Knight Syndrome. The pathetic bit is I am obviously incapable of fixing myself, I've been trying for years, so most of my boy related day dreams have to do with being desired in spite of that AND said boy(s)being the key to making it all better. Sad, right? Just wait, it gets better.

The best part about these wild flights of male fancy is how they play out. It's generally in a park or other public area that for some strange reason NOBODY is around to witness (I think my fantasies take place after most of the world is dead? I don't have an explanation for that), and it all starts out innocently enough, just hanging out, and then whatever male co-star I choose for that day says something that just sets me off, and oh lawdy lawd, the argument that ensues. I almost always end up screaming "Well, what the fuck do you want from me?" and then flip myself around to leave and then BAM! Movie kisses. Is that retarded? Hell yes it is. But I'm big on my daydreams ending in movie kisses. I've never had a movie kiss, and that sort of makes me sad. While i've been a partner in some seriously wicked good kissings, there hasn't been a single one to write home about. my movie kiss always ends the day dream, and with perfect timing to the last drum beat of the song.

I have this daydream soundtrack shit down pat, mother fuckers.

Listen to the song and try your own daydreams in synch with it. It's Milli Vanilli brand awesome.

I haven't shared any of these before

2010-10-05T09:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not necessarily the world's nicest person, and I know this. It's a bit twisted that I get pleasure out of mocking people, and there's no justification for that. There are few lines that I won't cross, and as a general rule, I sort of preen when I really hit the mark and nail somebody with a few zings.

But, I try not to let it impact the personal things that go on in my life. I like to giggle about it with a few close friends for a few days, and then I get bored and stop the mocking. I don't like to write about those sorts of things in my journals, because they're small moments that mean nothing (they also define me in rather negative angles and while I will openly admit to not being all that pleasant of a girl, I don't want to just show everyone what I mean. I rather like when people tell me I'm not a horrid individual) in the grand scheme of things.

I've sort of changed my mind about that today.

Here's the thing. The main squeeze works with a total douchebag that thinks he knows everything about everything, from how to cure a smelly uterus (I didn't even know those existed outside of, say, the morgue) to curing acne with fucking PEE. PEE. You read that correctly. Recently, this assface started a blog that is actually full of snippets from his "book" that he wants to have published. When the main squeeze showed it to me, I jumped all over it. It was too damn ridiculous to not mock. Naturaly, I opened my mouth and commented on a particularly stupid entry. Of course it got me nowhere (the entry in question, by the way, pertains to women being whores for wearing make up and high heels, and that Satan hates us. That's a very small, but highly accurate, summation). Now I read this blog every couple of days to see what new bullshit he's selling as God-given fact.

The most recent entry I read essentially said that because nobody likes his book, his publisher (who may, in fact, be a cardboard cutout of Howard the Duck) believes his book will garner lots of atention and acclaim because it's controversial. Like he wrote Catcher in the Rye or something, and he's just two or three decades ahead of his time. While I generally laughed about this, it made me think yet again about my dream of being a legitimate, published author.

I have written so many things in the last five years. I am still plugging along on my fantasy novel (slow and steady wins the race, after all. And after busting my ass on it for four years then chucking it and starting from scratch, I'm not about to quit), I've started a few short stories...I even took a small detour into erotica (which didn't pan out. As much as I love to gossip about dicks, turns out I cannot write a steamy, detailed fuck scene. I blush like a nun). All of the people who know me wel have read these things and know about my desire to be published.

What most people don't know is I started writing a book about my daughter. I haven't said very much in here about her, because it hurts and I'm ashamed of myself. I feel that way almost constantly. What's strange is that writing about it helps, but getting into the frame of mind to write about it forces me to dig up very unpleasant feelings and memories. So I'm stuck in a paradox and I don't quite know how to dig myself out of it.

I try and live my life in a way that faces pain head on. How better to learn from a stupid mistake that makes you miserable? Burying it does nothing for you, and it just stagnates personal growth. I've only done this in snippets with my situation with my daughter. I try and bury it for as long as I can (which doesn't work at fucking all), and then when it rears it's ugly head, I'll cry about it for a few hours, tell myself some bullshit lie, and then I play with my son.

I don't want to be that way anymore. So this morning, after reflecting on fuck face's horrible (probably false) exclamation that he will be published, I decided that I should probably jump back into my book about Rhyann.

I'm going to post a very tiny bit from it, but let me explain something first. I know this is the internet. It's an open forum and you are welcome to say whatever you want. It's a civil liberty I take the utmost advantage of, and I'm not the most sparing of feelings. But while I also recognize that I have said some fairly nasty things to people who are just doing the same thing I am, I am asking that if you have something nasty to say, please say it to me privately. you can email me at ondrea.tucci@gmail.com and I will openly accept anything you have to say; just please don't post it as a comment. This is a very sore subject for me. After 5 years it feels just as open and fresh as it did the very first day.

Alright. Now that I've rattled off, I also want to explain what I want this to be. I really have learned quite a bit from this experience. I'm still learning from it, which is both beautiful and loathsome. I have, over the last five years, been writing to my daughter with the (far-fetched) hope that she will one day get to read these letters for herself and see that I never abandoned her, I just went away for a little while and I sure as shit paved a road to hell with good intentions that just got ugly. It didn't help that her father was an emotional sadist and manipulated me and took advantage of me....and it certainly didn't help that I was gullible and naive and still had faith in the good in everyone. I want to write about everything that happened and put the letters to her in between chapters or paragraphs, whichever works better. Even if I don't accomplish that, and nobody wants to publish this because it's just a giant pity party, I think sharing these will be carthartic. I hope, regardless of the outcome, that other people reading this will help me actually start to heal.

I will lose my nerve if I don't just put it in here now, so here is one letter that I've written to my daughter.

Letter written : 2/19/10

Hi munchkin.

I just got the news today that according to the law, you are no longer my daughter.

I want to say that today is the saddest day of my life, but I can’t. Today is a very sad day for sure, but it’s been a long time coming. My saddest day was when you said you hated me, and right then I lost my motivation to fight for you. You don’t want me as your mother, you don’t know me as your mother. You can’t remember me, I’m just a forgotten ghost.

I am so sorry I failed you, my love. So so sorry. I wanted to give you everything in the world, but if the best thing I can give you is space and the opportunity to live without me, you’ve got it.

I know this was painful for you…having to talk to me, and I know you were probably scared. I’m sorry that you were put through this.

I know you are loved, and will continue to be loved, and I hope that the woman you know as your mother makes you feel safe and secure and happy. I know she will never ever be capable of giving to you what I could have given to you, and the bitter part of me wishes I could hate her for that. But some people just don’t have the capacity for intelligence that I have. That I hope you have been blessed with.

It is no consolation to me that I have the opportunity to absolutely spoil your brother with everything I have no chance to give to you. He is so smart and funny and loving, and there are times when I look at him and hear him doing his letters and numbers and I close my eyes really, really tight and just pray to God that when I open them again, it’s you sitting right next to him.

You know what I regret most? You never called me mommy. When I left, you weren’t talking yet, so I never got that from you. I really hope that Shila knows what she has in that, because she has MY treasure. The closest I ever got was Momma Drea, and that’s not who I am. I am and always will be your mom. Always. I just wish I could have helped you know that, and I wish more than anything I could have heard you say it just once. I don’t know if I ever even deserved it, though.

I’m sorry I was so rotten, Rhyann. I pray to be able to forgive myself for it one day, and I am so thankful that you don’t remember me sometimes. I was in a hard space, and most mornings I barely had the energy or will power to get out of bed and play with you. But I snuggled with you, and watched movies. And on days where I did have energy, we did EVERYTHING. We went out and played with each other, and you picked up rocks just so you could throw them back where you got them from, and we played with our kitties, and we sang together and colored and those are the days that I cherish, bee bee. They are encased in my mixed up head, and I will never let go of them. Since you have forgotten all about those times, I am the only woman alive who remembers them. I will be the only person who can tell you about them, and I pray that you come looking for me one day, wanting to hear about memories like that.

I hate knowing that I have to let you go. But it’s been kind of selfish of me, trying to hold on to you when you have no idea why. I tried to explain it to you and it just made you upset. I can’t keep dragging you with me anymore if you’re not willing to come along, and without sounding like I despise you or resent you because I never could, this has become more of a burden for me than anything else. It’s been a Herculean undertaking, that’s for sure, and I never knew something with the potential for such a joyful outcome could be so painful during the process. I am so upset that this didn’t have the outcome I projected, and honestly, I know that part of my heart is gone until, God willing, you come back to me. I left that part of me with you, and I hope somewhere, you always feel that bit of me. I pray that you know you’re different and special and that you have more people that love you and miss you and will never, ever forget you. You are in my prayers and my heart every single day, my love. Paperwork and signatures and you not remembering doesn’t change what’s real and what’s real is you are my first baby. You were a gift from God that woke me up to how wonderful life can be.

I treasure you beyond compare, and I wish I could just give you a big hug to say goodbye. I wish I could have gotten to say goodbye period, but I didn’t get to. Something you said to me a lot before I wasn’t allowed to talk to you is “Goodbye means goodbye”. I believe that this one, our goodbye which is very one sided, isn’t a goodbye means goodbye forever. This one just means goodbye for now.

I will miss you and think of you every single day until we meet again. We will always have something special, because no matter what, I knew you before your father did. I felt you first, I touched you first, I LOVED you first. I was your very first home, and you were the first person in my life to make me feel like I was going to be ok.

I love you so much. That won’t ever go away. Find me one day, please. My door will always be cracked open waiting for you to come back.

Beating to a click track heart

2010-10-01T09:50:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, it makes me a little depressed that I don't write in here anymore.

But then I think about all the extra time that gives me to loaf around in my underwear doing absolutely nothing, and I'm alright with it.

Not too much has been going on that's exciting to report about.

Sill love my new job, my car is behaving herself, my son is awesome, my fiance is awesome, my friends are awesome (AND one of them is knocked up, so that's fucking brilliant)....in general, my life is awesome.

I've started working out in the mornings beforeI wake my son up, which I actually really enjoy doing. It's difficult, but this lard ass of mine isn't going to lose itself and if I waited until I got home from work....well, let's be honest. I'd just cry about not having any energy. And I really don't.

Aren't you glad I updated? I'm sure everyone needs more mundane information about other people in their lives.

I'm currently working on a new STMLTYOLB, so hopeffuly we'll have it up next week.

I'm yours for the next four seconds!

2010-09-07T21:19:00.000-07:00

Whirlwind! Tornados! Cyclones! Other words that mean very strong gusts of windy activity!

I've been really bad about chronicling my inane behavior and shenaingans, but I'm going to do a full update tomorrow.

I know, I know. You can't wait until then.

CLIFFHANGER!!

To be continued.................

STMLTYOLB TUESDAY....again!

2010-08-17T20:34:00.000-07:00

Alright, let's cut to the chase so we can get to the meat of this pumpkin.

Today's STMLTYOLB isn't really technically a sexy, saucy groove. It is all about enduring love and miraculous relationships, though.

Shed a tear and call up your very best pal today to........

A SONG TO CELEBRATE YOUR NON-SEXUAL SOULMATE

Or....

The Wind Beneath My Wings

Bette Midler and this song need no introduction. We all know it, we all belt it out whenever we're alone in the car. Because this song is fucking insanely epic.

So let me ask you this. Do you have at least one friend that you would sell your soul to the devil for just to make them smile?

Me, either.

But I DO have a very very very bestest ever in the whole wide world friend that I would do anything for that didn't involve my immortal soul. I have referenced her quite a bunch in my blog entires, because she is one of the most important people in my life.

Close your eyes (I mean, don't REALLY do it, because then you can't keep reading) and let me take you back. Way back. Back into time. Picture it: I was a precocious, curly headed moppet with a strong singing voice and a flashy sense of style....she was a quiet, shy girl that came from a rich family that vacationed in the Hamptons. After I smoked cigarettes under the boardwalk and sang "That's The Glory of Love" to her, we had chocolate shakes and went our separate ways but remained penpals and developed a lasting bond that took us through her beomcing a lawyer, me becoming an off-broadway actress, divorces, childbearing, and then at the end, her death.

Not pictured : Amber, Drea, or reality.

Actually, when I was 14, I saw Amber sitting by herself at the back of the bus we rode home together. I had seen her a few times, never really spoken to her, but for whatever reason, decided it would be a great idea to sidle up to her and say the following: "Hi, my name is Ondrea, and I'm going to come home with you today and we're going to be best friends." She just sort of looked at me and then said, "Okay."
And then we were.

13 years later, she is still my very best friend in the whole wide world. She showed me the movie Beaches about a year into our friendship, and like all vagina bearing friends, we adopted it as our movie. I was Bette Midler, because of the boisterous nature, the singing chops and....well....the hair. She was Barbara Hershey because she was quieter than me, wanted to be a lawyer, and in a huge twist of fate that had nothing to do with humor OR her desire to be the ever lovely Barbara Hershey, she has a bit of a heart condition. I was blown away by the movie, and we have watched it together and cried a few times. Whenever it comes on now, I watch it, bawl my eyes out, and miss my very best friend.

Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing or being preoccupied with, if I hear this song I will listen to it in reverence, get misty, and think of how awesomely lucky I am to have such an amazing best friend that I have been able to grow with, laugh with, and be myself with. I love her and this song in serious fashion.

Hooray, friends! I hope everyone is as blessed as I am!

You're bastard people

2010-08-17T20:22:00.000-07:00

This new job is equal parts FUCKING STRESSFUL and welcome respite from the last three years of thankless insanity.

I'm trying to get myself acclimated to my new environment, title (BIG TIME MANAGER! YAHOOOOO!), and attitude of my underlings and overlords. Still learning after two weeks.

A lot has been going on. Most of it I can't talk about. Some of it I can.

For instance. My apartment complex broke the cardinal rule. Don't come into my mother fucking apartment unless that shit is on fire or flooding. When did they come in? When it was a mess. And they made a big stink about it. Those stupid fuckers. That's ok, the joke is on them, because I poisoned the pool water supply!

In reality, I just cleaned my apartment. Much lamer than a few jugs of arsenic, but also a whole hell of a lot more legal.

I discovered The Riches, watched with complete delight, and then suffered severe heartbreak when it ended with absolutely no sort of conclusion.

My car has decided it no longer wants to be a car and instead wants to be a ball sucking whore. That beautiful piece of shit betrayed me in epic fashion, and I've been on the ugly side of my love/hate relationship with Rizzo since last Wednesday.

I was also reminded how lovely it can be to hang out in large group settings. IT was the main squeeze's birthday Sunday, and we spent the whole weekend at his parent's house eating Filipino food, drinking, playing football, and just hanging out and being rad. It was a great weekend.

I am so fucking boring I wouldn't know excitement if it grabbed my hair and raped my face.

Songs to make love to your old lady by - the saga continues

2010-08-02T12:14:00.000-07:00

So, I'm going to be completely serious for this one. No intentional joking, and it's probably going to be long.

If you're lucky enough to be a person that can dress themselves and speak without drooling, you've probably had a relationship. Which means you also know the crushing agony and torment when someone leaves you. Or, you know the crushing agony and torment of finally coming to terms with the fact that the person you, for no explainable reason that you or your friends can figure out, are so stupid in love with isn't going to change and will never, in fact, love you enough to attempt it.

Is this just me?

Anyway, I have mentioned my daughter's father in here. Chris was the very first person I ever loved after thinking I knew what love was, and I loved him so much it hurt. But not in a good way. Every single thing he did made my heart break, and I spent most of my time huddled up in the shower listening to that classic Annie Lennox song "Why". I only wish I were kidding. I spent a good three years in the shower. But at least I was clean by the time I split.

Chris and I argued frequently, and I would always ask him "Why don't you love me enough to try this?" and that's about the part of the argument where Chris would slam a door in my face and waddle off into his Cave Of Hating His Girlfriend. Between his time in the cave and my time in the shower, it's a wonder our daughter ever saw us together at all.

Anyway, when I finally got up the gumption to leave, it was really hard for me. I tell people all the time...and still do...that at that point I didn't care anymore and walking away was super easy. But the truth of the matter is, it ate me up inside. I wanted him to love me enough to be flexible, and there lies the rub. The ol' Grass is Greener Syndrome. Once I told Chris I was leaving and he figured out I wasn't bullshitting, he begged me to stay. Every day. I saw him cry, I heard him say he loved me, and the second I started to believe it was the second I started to hate his fucking guts with more passion than I had ever loved them with. I absolutely relished in his apparent sorrow, and even took to being insulting and cruel. Because in my girl brain, I felt like he deserved for the tables to be turned. I held secret clap and cackle sessions so I could allow myself time to express in bodily music how overjoyed I was that he finally knew how I had felt for the last three years. Unloved, unwanted, and completely pitiful.

Turns out, M. Night Shyamalan was directing this picture, and a twist of epic proportions came about!

I was dead the whole time, and it made my curator wife REALLY cold.

What really happened was I stopped being delighted and started being angry. Why couldn't this have been Chris when I was with him? Why couldn't he have wanted me when it mattered?

And it wasn't until years after the fact (this year, actually) that I discovered the song that perfectly encapsulated the absolute agony I felt during that dark and depressing time in my life.

REMINISCE ABOUT THE FIRST BOY THAT BROKE YOUR HEART TO......

Song : Fuck You Lucy

By :

(Slug : Proud Sponsor of Simon Says)

This song is excellent on several different levels. First, the almost excessive use of "fuck". I have such a soft spot for that word, because sometimes it's the only word that works. Also, I don't know about you, but I've always been a little bit disappointed that almost all of the big time 'wah wah my heart is broken' songs have been written and/or performed by women. It's sort of comforting to listen to a guy piss and moan about how much he hates his girlfriend for not needing him. Ok, so it's very comforting. Phil Collins doesn't count, by the way. I did solid research and he does, in fact, have a vagina.

So my scenario was a little bit different. I did the leaving. But the rest of the song still pretty much rings true for that period of my life. I really just wanted to say "Fuck you. I'm not ok. I don't know what to do." The only other glaring difference is...I was the only person that made the mistake of thinking that was love.

If you want to hear someone else as angry and fucked up as you are, take a listen. Sometimes, belting out swear words with someone who's writing your story practically verbatim is the best cure.

*as a sidenote, I don't know why the fuck I wrote this, or what purpose it serves. Giddy times will abound next cycle*

The prodigal daughter returns

2010-08-02T09:36:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have certainly missed blogging....well, sort of. I have missed it now that I have time to reflect on everything that's gone in the 100 years of my absence, but as previously implied, I didn't have a brain cell to spare that noticed what I was missing.

Soooo....button, button, who's got the button?

Let's see. In the months since I've been gone, I suffered a small breakdown, decided it was finally time to leave my suck ass of a job, and then spent weeks getting up the nerve to actually put in my two weeks. Well, those two weeks were up yesterday, and today is my first day without a job.

EXCEPT....

I got another job on Friday. Yes, yes I did. I start on Wednesday, it's so much better (here's to positivity!), and I am genuinely excited.

I've missed doing STMLTYOLB Wednesday, so I think I might switch it to Tuesday and do one tomorrow.

Good to be back! I want to go catch up on everyone that I've missed out on while I've been all busy with bullshit.

STMLTYOLB Wednesday...it's not just for kids anymore!!

2010-04-21T20:05:00.000-07:00

I am a saucy lady (or minx, if you’re beyond the puddle).

Having this status, it should go without saying that I very much enjoy what shall henceforth be referred to as “putting the moves on the main squeeze”. In turn, I also like when he busts out the sex magnet and sucks me in. You are free to take those two phrases as his wang and going down south, respectively.

But this is about me, as a saucy lady, and what things I enjoy doing.

Strike that.

First, it’s about things I do NOT enjoy.

As a saucy lady, I am not without a high number of sex partners. It’s unfortunate that saucy ladies can be mistaken as common place whores, hookers, sluts, skanks, whatever name you choose for those girls who have a cave for a vagina, and probably lost people in it that are still spelunking unplundered depths to this very day…keeping clear of the various STD stalagmites littering the area. You know who I mean. Floozies. Tarts. Streetwalkers. My best friend’s mother-in-law. I am not one of those ladies. My ladybits are a treasure to behold; they practically sparkle with glory and freshness. As I was saying. Yes, I have slept around with my fair share of men. And probably yours, as well. But I had standards, and I was safe. Now that you have about as much info on my good girl as my gynecologist, I can continue.

A surprising number of men that I have engaged in coitus with operated under a serious misnomer: Women want to be wooed and charmed and made to feel like this isn’t a cheap one night stand. WRONG. If a woman goes home with you after you’ve been doing the ritual bar sexy flirtation dance, you are in for a fast drive to Mack Town. There is no need for wine, or sweet nothings, or atmospheric music….just some sweet, sweet nape kissing and a deft hand. A sweet apartment doesn’t hurt your cause, either….because I’ve been to a few squalid hellholes where the festering germs unite to tell me to get the fuck out while I’m parasite free. To sum up: no wooing, no charms (obviously they were laid on thick enough in the beginning of the evening…This is not a Mr. America pageant.) AND NO MUSIC.

I cannot tell you how many times a guy has been wearing his smug knows he’s about to get laid face, asking me what kind of music “does it for me”. Silence. That kind of music does it for me. Listening to music when I’m supposed to be listening to your throaty songs of passion kills the mood that we painstakingly created earlier. It doesn’t make me feel giddy inside, it makes me want to be sick all over your over-eager beaver smile.

That being said, however, there have been a few instances where I’ve needed the sultry sounds of something other than my pre-coital purring to keep those embers blazing. And I have ONE SONG. One.

Touch yourself today to……..

THE SEXIEST SONG EVER CREATED, OR A SUBSTITUTE FOR WHEN YOU CAN’T FIND SOMETHING CLASSIER….LIKE GINUWINE’S RIDE IT (MY PONY)

Featuring.....

(as a small sidenote, I believe this is one of the most homosexual photos ever taken)

Song in question : Come Undone.

This song is a fucking masterpiece. And I mean that with double emphasis. This song is a fucking masterpiece and this song is a fucking masterpiece. Oh snap, I'm a genius! Anyway. Aside from the fact that for the longest time, I thought the girl singing as an accompaniment was saying "cannot believe you're taking my heart to Egypt", this song has always raised my libido about ten notches... Putting me somewhere between Christian Slater and Wilt Chamberlin. There's something about the way the song opens that just lays me out beyond belief. I remember once getting all gussied up while the main squeeze was in the shower, setting candles around the bedroom, and putting this song on, lounging on the bed in some very saucy lingerie. Needless to say, good times were had by all. It's actually one of my favorite sexy memories of me and the main squeeze. Anytime I think about it, it gives me butterflies in a way that makes me feel like a pervert over butterflies. I have a sexy song playlist (available to anyone that's interested in a sexy playlist to try out for themselves!), and it's the first song on there.

Woof.

I'm getting myself into trouble with the butterflies.

If you haven't heard this song (where the fuck have you been?), take a listen and then go hump. It'll be the best time you have. EVER.

Let's all high five about how much I miss having perky boobs

2010-03-22T20:21:00.000-07:00

So, I wimped out and decided I am too chunky to post pictures of myself up. But I started the 30 day shred today. And it was rad. It's short, it's fairly intense, and it's perfect for me.

Today has been an all around shit of a day. And I left my keys at the office. Mother fucker. I need those to get IN the office.

I had to take a cab home, which blows goats. I was supposed to go out for sushi with a friend of mine on Wednesday night, but I'm going to have to bail because I took a cab home today and the main squeeze and I are trying this newfangled idea of being grown-ups and spending our money wisely. Which fucking SUCKS.

I miss being a kid in my very early twenties. I miss my boobs!!! I used to have such great boobs. And such a nice body. People used to pay to see me naked, you know. Man. I think that now, anybody who got to see me naked for free would feel ripped off.

What a bummer of a day. For right now, I'm back in my funk, feeling sad and old and fugly.

I'm not revealing any tricks of the trade, it's just there ain't no magic in the breakdown, baby.

2010-03-21T20:03:00.000-07:00

Ok. So, the bestest has been doing the 30 Day Shred from HorseFace Reallyaman, and it has provided her with wonderful results. I bought the 30 day shred for myself tonight and am going to start it tomorrow.

I have spent the last three weeks not working out, because I have been in a funk over losing my daughter and haven't really wanted to do anything but pretend that I wasn't crashing continuously into deeper waves of depression.

But I'm out of my funk, and I'm excited to get back on the workout bandwagon. I've missed it so much.

So, tomorrow, I'm going to post pictures of how I look now, and then we'll revisit in 30 days and see if I lost a significant amount of weight.

Excitement, you're all titillated, I'm sure.

Until you can salivate over pictures of my plump, post two children body!

Songs to make love to your old lady by - Featuring THE MAIN SQUEEZE!

2010-03-17T15:42:00.000-07:00

So, a week ago, the main squeeze asked if he could do a STMLTYOLB post. And I was delighted. I will return next week!

Sweet, gentle reader!

I would say this is a pleasant surprise, but chances are, you've been here before. Mayhap it is a pleasant surprise to you, that you get to meet me, the Main Squeeze, or maybe you're already prepared to send increasingly disturbing and possibly pornographic threats in the form of comments on the bottom of the page. Either way, I hope you're ready to be transported back to a magical land when you were nineteen years old and only somewhat wondering if you've already developed the sort of alcoholism that either makes you an excellent poet or homeless. That is, my intrepid blog surfing companion, the reason why I've chosen to write about Bayside's song "Masterpiece" for today's Songs to Make Love to Your Old Lady By. Because it's the song that would TOTALLY be your life anthem if you were 19 and interested in sobriety only when you were wasted.

(this guy has no interest in anything but YOUR sobriety, because that means you have more money to feed his habit)

Most of us have been there before, but let me set the stage for you... You wake up at 6:30 in the morning, still drunk, laid out under a ping pong table with someone else's shoes on, a 40oz of malt liquor duct taped to one hand, the imprint of your cell phone's keypad pressed into your cheek from when you fell asleep drunk dialing, a full body soreness that just cannot be explained, and crude drawings of penii all over your forehead. It's usually right about this time, or maybe slightly later when you're trying to scrub marker off your face with the "cleanest" dish rag in the kitchen, that you decide to swear off of alcohol entirely. You're sick of waking up and feeling like crap. You hate that your friends would mess with you because you have the alcohol tolerance of a small child. It's time to grow up. You're 19 for pete's sake! And as you stumble out to the bus stop you put Bayside on your discman and sing it in your head as if you wrote it yourself.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I've just jumped headfirst into the pensive of your brain and splashed all your memory fluids onto the internet for everyone to read.

(exactly like this, only with more internet porn pop ups)

You might be feeling vulnerable and alone, but take heart, we're all here with you. You see, most people go through a phase like this in their lives. It's not always with substances that can be easily abused, but think of it as the time in your life where you figure out your limits. For instance, I happen to know that I can listen to 2.176 Dave Matthews Band songs per gallon of rubbing alcohol ingested. The point is that music and drinking fit together perfectly. So when you get the idea that drinking heavily might not be a good thing, it is quite ironic that the idea seems to have more conviction when you're completely smashed.

In a strangely complimentary way, this song reminds me of the period of time just before and at the very beginning of my relationship with my sweetums. It was a snapshot of exactly how I was feeling about my life. I felt like I should have known better than to equate being surrounded by people as not being lonely, or to equate being hammered as not being depressed. Okay so I wasn't 19 at the time... still, it makes me both sad and happy when I hear it occasionally. I remember the crushing feeling of wanting to change but not letting myself, and now that we've been together for almost 5 years now, I can see that changing isn't as hard as all that. Sometimes it just happens. Other times you have to wake up with a crudely drawn dick on your cheek. Either way, you can still sing this song like you wrote it.

And that, you cuddly ball of internet savvy, is why you can make love to your old lady to Bayside's "Masterpiece". Just remember to bring your journal, and have your big brother or sister get you some Steel Reserve so that you can immerse yourself nipples deep in the lukewarm waters of memory. Goodbye, new friends of mine!

Love,
Main "Once flexed His Biceps so Hard That YOU Popped a Blood Vessel" Squeeze

Dear sweet snacktoast

2010-03-16T22:05:00.001-07:00

Today has been an excellent day.

California sent me my money back (344 dollars! Suck it, welfare state!), I got a ten dollar Kohl's giftcard out of nowhere (it expired, but still! Great bonus...if, you know, I shopped at Kohl's. And bothered to check my mail more than once a month), I wiggled my way out of a 1300 traffic citation down to a 50 dollar fine. I attribute that to my keen sense of knowing just how to talk to men. AND the weather was just damn glorious today. Sunny, warmish, and delicious.

Tomorrow is STMLTYOLB Wednesday, and the main squeeze decided it might be fun if he got to do one! I am very excited about it. I want to try doing Featured Bloggers for STMLTYOLB Wednesday, because it would be really, really neat to see what everyone listens to. I love listening to other people's soundtracks. I know I don't have many people who follow me, and I'm sure only a fingerful actually bother to read my blog. But on the off chance this is a day you're stumbling upon an entry and writing a STMLTYOLB post is something you'd be interested in doing, let me know!! I'd love to feature you.

Until tomorrow!!

Songs to make love to your old lady by

2010-03-11T10:28:00.001-08:00

Sorry this is late, folks! I've been having some issues at home (I'm pretending you're interested in why this is less than punctual). Here's what you've been waiting for!

Very often I find myself staring at the people I see during the normal course of my day. I’m not staring at them with lust, I stare at these people and just contemplate everything about them. Would we be friends? Do they like to sing when they’re alone? Do they pick their nose and wipe it under their chairs? Silly shit like that.

Mostly, though, I wonder how like me they are. I know in the grand scheme of things, we are pretty much the same. But there are times when I Watch the people that pass in front of my office, or the people in line in front of me at the grocery store, or at the bank, or wherever I am and think about how sad and tired they look. I think that they can’t possibly have happy memories or anything in their life that brings them joy, because they just look…well, GREY. Like their lives have drained them of every single pleasant color and they are all automatons swarming together to keep the collective going. Right now, I’m wondering if that was some sort of awesome nerd reference that I have no idea about.
Anyway.

I get tired, too. And I feel drained most of the time. Between all of my recent issues, and my son who is the most awesome but tiring little thing I’ve ever seen, and my fiancé and my job and my bills and everything else, I think I probably look pretty grey to everyone else. I barely smile when I’m in public by myself (though I do think that’s more for appearances sake than lack of anything to smile about; I look at people who are by themselves who smile for a little bit of time and I think to myself “That person is clearly losing their motivation to stay in touch with reality”), and I am always hurrying. Today, this seemed like perfect fodder for STMLTYOLB Wednesday, and here’s why.

I have so much joy it’s unbelievable. For anyone to picture me as anything but a radiant mix of delightful color splashes makes me so very sad. I keep every single happy piece of my life tucked away for rainy days when I need a huge pick me up, and boy do my memories deliver. In the hopes of restoring some of YOUR color (perhaps you are having a very grey day), here is today’s pick.

Ta-da!

MEMORIES THAT MAKE YOU INCREDIBLY JOYFUL NO MATTER HOW BLEAK YOUR SHIT LOOKS

Featuring :

Song : Beating Hearts Baby
Oh my gosh, you guys. This song sticks to me like an obnoxious piece of pre-chewed gum on the bottom of my shoe. But in a good way. I have so many memories attached to this song, and not one of them is depressing or disappointing. Here is my favorite.

The first time the main squeeze came to stay with me for an extended period of time, I lived in Boca Raton in a very large apartment that was heinously overpriced (but I was recruiting for the DoD at that time, and money wasn’t something I needed to give a fuck about) and did I mention it was incredibly large? The balcony alone was about as big as my apartment now. Not that you can use that as any kind of valid measuring stick….moving on.

My roommate’s girlfriend was out of town, leaving just the main squeeze, the other roomie and myself. As the main squeeze and I were stuck together like aforementioned shoe and gum, I can only imagine that John (the other roommate) was uncomfortable and therefore, the main squeeze and I found ourselves alone pretty much constantly.

On one night in particular, being the fantastic cook I am, I decided that I wanted to make the main squeeze my seriously fucking bad ass manicotti (Yes. I’m Italian…knowing how to make manicotti is practically inherent. But mine is seriously better than everyone else’s) and just relax and have a good time with him. He had made me a CD that I had yet to listen to, so I decided an evening of cooking in my radical kitchen was as good a time as any to take an aural gander. The first 4 songs were pretty decent, and we were bopping along, the main squeeze was singing (he has a tremendous singing voice but he rarely uses it if he knows you’re listening. And by you I mean me) and then, on comes song five. Beating Hearts Baby. And I was so fucking tickled by it that I put it on repeat, knew it by heart in the span of ten minutes, and the main squeeze and I spent the rest of the night listening to that song, cooking, eating, dancing, and singing before exhausting ourselves to my room and going to bed, completely spent and divinely happy. Are there better memories than that? Of course! But for whatever reason, that is one of my prized possessions in my memory bank.

This song is completely the stuff that good times are made of. It’s infectious and toe-tap worthy and upbeat and wonderful. I hope that this can be another song that you listen to and attach a new memory to it…one that will make you glow on days when the grey seems unstoppable.

*As a sidenote, I believe I’ve mentioned that my fiancé and I have been together for four years. It will be five years this November. Over the last five years, he’s made a very consistent “joke” about why he’s stayed with me so long. It has never offended me, and I hope that it’s partially true. The joke is “I came because she was hot, I stayed for the manicotti”. Neither of us were the relationship type, we were both reckless whores that slept with almost everyone we came into contact with. So, there you have it. My manicotti is so fucking good, I can keep the main squeeze attracted for life. You can’t have the recipe. Well….unless your relationship is in jeopardy. Then you can have it and take all the credit for it. Claim it as “so and so’s manicotti” and you will have a happy, bloated life partner that is too stuffed to think of anything else but your divine cooking hands. You’re welcome!!

Oh yay! I got a blog award!

2010-03-06T19:30:00.000-08:00

This tickled me silly.

I got a blog award!

Here's the rules, kids :

List ten things that make you ridiculously happy. Do at least one of them today, then pass it on and share the love!!

1. Playing with my son
2. Taking naps (check off the agenda, I did this today!)
3. Lounging around with my three fat cats (did this today, too! YES!)
4. Writing
5. Listening to music
6. SUSHI (yum yum yum yum!)
7. Sunflower Market
8. Dressing up
9. Spending time with my little sister Angel
10. Seeing my grandmother's wedding ring on mah finger

Hooray!

Unfortunately, I don't really have anybody that I want to give this blog out to. Cassagram gave it to me, so that's out, and my schou schou face already received one. Man, I am lame. Well, I'll just have to poke through the few blogs I follow and then update this post.

But I'm really grateful for the blog award, it made me happy!

My serious writing project makes a small appearance (the equivalent of a panty flash, really)

2010-03-04T22:55:00.000-08:00

I go back and forth between telling myself I'm a fantastic writer and telling myself that I suck serious balls and need to just give it all up and be a real person.

But. I got a fair amount of writing done this week, and I did some tweaking with the main squeeze. I am about to post a section of the book I have been writing for the last 4 fucking years. That's a long time. Anyway, I am very anxious for comments, criticisms, suggestions, anything to make this better. I know it's just a fragment, with no back story, and if you're unfamiliar with Arthurian legend, you will be completely in the dark. Sorry. That being said, tally ho, readers!!

*******************************************************************

Seth opened his eyes and placed his hands to his face. He groaned painfully as he felt each mark the tree had engraved into his cheek while he slept. His shoulder throbbed angrily from being shoved against the uncomfortable bark, and Seth mindlessly massaged life back into his arm as he looked around in an effort to gain his bearings. The forest seemed to be in the darkest part of early evening. A gloom surrounded everything Seth looked at. Using the tree as an instrument to hoist himself to his feet, he tried to remember how he got here and why he was alone. Flashes of memory whirred through his head in jagged puzzle pieces that Seth couldn’t fit together; Arthur laughing, Merlin’s silence, Seth feeling sleepy…but none of it helped. Pitifully, he looked around and called for his friends, quietly at first, and then louder and louder. Seconds evolved into minutes with nothing as a return for his calls.

Seth staggered forward, still recovering from an uncomfortable sleep. He had no idea where he was going, and he hated admitting it to himself, but he was afraid. As he continued walking in whatever direction he fretfully headed in, Seth was most alarmed by the utter silence of the woods. No crickets, no rustling leaves. He looked up through the canopy to find the moon in the hopes that he would be comforted by it’s familiarity, but to no avail. The leaves had meshed themselves into a dense blanket that covered any shreds of light that might break through and make the lonely place a bit more tolerable. Seth pushed himself onward, longing to hear some sign of life.

He slowly and quietly made his way through the darkness, continually looking over his shoulder in the hopes he would see Arthur and Merlin perhaps sleeping close by. All he saw were the unmoving bodies of the trees, and Seth felt threatened. Their stoic stillness seemed menacing, and the urge to quicken his pace was overpowering. Seth shuffled faster and faster toward a goal he wasn’t positive existed, and right as he was about to break into a frantic run, he saw a thin streak of light pushing through trees far up ahead. His heart leapt, and his feet followed. Seth ran for the exit and threw himself down onto the grass when he’d broken free of the forest.

The ground stabbed into his flesh, making Seth itch all over. He pushed himself up and furiously rubbed his legs and arms, doing his best to sooth his grass bitten skin. He carefully repositioned himself, ensuring that no grass touched his bare lower legs. He took stock of his surroundings, again noticing that the normal sounds that should be clamoring to make themselves heard were muted. In front of him a broad stream forced its way through the countryside, but the water was silent. The clouds loomed threateningly overhead in a way that didn’t signify impending rain; they instead threw themselves cruelly in front of the sun, keeping any light from trickling its way across the field. Seth scowled at his predicament and plucked at the sharp grass, throwing it as far as it would fly. Everything looked as powerless as he felt. Sighing heavily, he stood back up and plodded to the unnaturally quiet water. Seth decided that following the river downstream was his best chance of finding someone, anyone that could help him locate his friends. Resolutely, he set out on his way.

The river made for unfriendly company. Seth trudged through brambles that cluttered his path, swearing angrily when thorns painfully dug into his legs. He was jumping on one leg to wipe away a trickle of blood from a cut when he lost his footing and fell into the water. It was deeper than it appeared, and faster than it should have been. Seth did his best to swim up to the top, but the icy fingers of the current clawed at him and drew him farther from the surface. His chest was ready to burst and his limbs were going numb from cold when he was heaved out of the clutches of the river. Seth gasped and sputtered and coughed furiously until he thought he was going to pass out. He did his best to drink in the abundance of air and looked up, forcing himself to smile, fully expecting Arthur and Merlin to be standing in front of him. The smile was ripped off of his face when he saw his salvation.

The man’s hair was black and stringy, and it hung lifelessly past his shoulders. On top of his head, a crown sat askew. It lacked any shine or luster and was as dim as the man’s face. There was nothing to his face at all. Each feature hung in facial limbo, and Seth thought it looked like his mouth was ready to walk off at any moment; his attempt at a smile was so crooked. The man’s clothes were just as depressing; worn and grubby and uncared for. Seth’s eyes couldn’t help but notice the man’s upper legs. They were drenched in blood. Seth rocked backward, horrified, and would have fallen into the water again had the bleeding man not caught him.

“You’ve got to be careful, young master. She’s a dangerous beast, and I cannot save you every time.” He tried to smile again at Seth, and Seth found this more terrifying than welcome. The man held out his hand to help Seth to his feet, and Seth cautiously accepted, his eyes bouncing back and forth from the man’s face to his blood covered pants in a feeble attempt not to stare.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come along.”

The man carelessly waved away the gratitude. He nudged Seth to continue walking, and Seth fell in sidestep.

“But how did you get here, young man? You’re ever so far from where you should have started.” Seth began to answer, but didn’t know what to say. He drew a complete blank.

“You know, it’s funny. I have no idea. But you’re right; I am so far from where I’m supposed to be. Can you show me the way there?”

The man nodded cheerfully and extended his arm, leading the way to an isolated castle standing in the very middle of the river and looking bleak and ominous. Crows circled overhead, waiting for some form of carrion to present itself for their dining pleasure. But none of this is what Seth saw. The gloom had melted into something that felt like home to Seth. He whistled a cheerless tune and followed his new companion to their joint destination, feeling content and full of purpose.

Eagerly, they stepped inside the worn and desolate fortress. They were greeted by the lazy din of a large number of people bustling around a table, mirthlessly encased in each other’s company. Seth watched as they drank greedily from oversized goblets and piled large chargers with an abundance of food. The man led Seth to the front of the dreary hall where an old man sat, staring longingly at the diners. Seth couldn’t help but notice that the older man looked very similar to his new friend, and bore the same gruesome affliction in his lap. Seth’s brain panged against his skull for a brief moment before he was seized by the desire to feast with the other guests. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man sit next to his older doppelganger, the both of them looking frail and pained. This image was driven out of his mind as he watched everyone eat. “I am so hungry” he thought to himself, eyeing a nearly demolished roast. “Come to think of it, I have no idea when I ate last.” Seth was suddenly consumed by a lust for all that was set before him, and without another thought he quickly set about to finish every last morsel on the table.

Seth plowed through plate after plate, never bothering to wonder why his thirst was never quenched and his hunger wasn’t sated. He paid no mind to the dingy people hunkered down all around him, each of them thinking of nothing but their ravenous consumption. Amidst the sound of his eating that echoed in his head, he heard a rousing shout of “To the river!” and a half-hearted cheer spread through the hall. Seth stood and looked in the direction of the order; his head panged again, more ferociously than the first time. It brought with it a fleeting scene of a broken table covered in rotten food. The tablecloth was moving ever so slowly, but it wasn’t a tablecloth; it was a bed of maggots. Seth twitched involuntarily, forgetting the vivid imagery. The ache subsided rather quickly, and he followed the younger man with the wounded lower half. Seth blended in with the line as they made their way outdoors, each shuffling slowly along. Seth glanced about outside and saw flashes of swampy marshland and fog-ridden fields, trees that bore no fruit and decayed where they stood. These visions came fast; Seth couldn’t get a hold on them and he felt hazy, but as quickly as they came, they were forgotten and everything was quiet again.

Seth clumsily made his way to sit next to the wounded man. He slowly motioned for Seth to sit next to him on a mossy rock that neighbored the river. Seth watched him as he threw a fishing line in the middle of the water and leaned back, seeming to bask in the stillness. Seth’s hand flew to the side of his head as his brain thumped again, this time demanding that Seth paid attention. His eyes felt unfocused, and when Seth looked around, he saw two scenes falling into one: the first was by far more pleasant. The group from the castle had gathered around the man and listlessly fished in the river. While there was no laughter or happy faces, everyone seemed content enough. The second of the two jarred Seth out of his stupor. The sky was horrible. It burned with brightness, but no light seemed to touch the charred ground. The wounded man was weeping, his guttarl cries matched only by the rush of the water. The river tore past them, tarry and black as a freshly inflicted wound. Seth watched it in horror. He glanced down and screamed. What had moments ago been a mossy embankment that he and the man sat on was now as rough and gritty as a scab. The cries from the man continued, and his fingers feebly pointed behind Seth.
“My Kingdom! See what it’s become!”

Seth’s mouth hung open in abject terror. The clouds fell from the sky, and the lack of light couldn’t make the horrible truth of the land disappear. The ground was littered with emaciated bodies, each of them clinging to each other and crying out for death.

Songs to make love to your old lady by

2010-03-03T20:59:00.000-08:00

Holy shit, guys.

If you’ve read even two of my blog entries where I talk at length, you probably already know that I have a huge crush on myself.

You will have also figured out that I have a serious problem with the way I view myself. In short, you realize that I am a hot mess of overblown ego and insecurities, and they tend to cancel each other out and leave me in this emotional limbo that encases me very much like a placenta. It’s ugly and sometimes it pulses.

Anyway, because of this, no matter how fucked up someone is to me in a relationship that causes it to end, I usually end up blaming it on myself even if I’M the one who left. The flip side to this coin was how I would also wind up telling myself that I may have a shitload of problems, but how could people not want this jelly? I find it impossible to believe that people don’t hover around me constantly, sniffing in the glorious scent of me and wishing they could sleep next to it even though they know what a fucking chore it will be to have me in their lives in a sexual/romantic capacity.

I know. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so pathetic.

I am about to bring out the big guns here for today’s Song To Make Love To Your Old Lady By. And when I say big guns, I do mean wimpy, suck ass little British water guns that long stopped working and everyone just laughs at them because they’re lame.

Today’s prodigal son is……….

A SONG FOR YOUR ALMOST SPOT ON WHILE MANAGING TO BE COMPLETELY OVERBLOWN EGO

Featuring : This pasty white guy

(he's singing DIRECTLY to my vagina's sense of self-worth)

Song : Invisible Touch

Christ Almighty. I know, it’s seriously fucking lame, but let me explain myself here.

Fine. There is no explanation.

When I hear this song, I want someone to think of me when they hear it, even if this is someone that I don’t want in the least. I’m sort of aware that I’m a mess, and I really want people to want me in spite of that. Or because of it. Or both, I’m not sure. I have deluded myself into believing I really AM the girl in Invisible Touch, because I’m probably really lonely inside.
I guess if you’re anything like me and also have a sick affinity for really lame songs from the eighties, this is a great song to listen to and harbor fantasies of random, hot men that want you even though you fuck up everything you touch. Thank you, Genesis, for defining me!!! You have no idea how much you’ve helped me out.

Oh my GOD, he SNAPPED!!!!!!

2010-03-01T20:40:00.000-08:00

So, I got rejected by the elitist egg entourage. Check out that alliteration!

While I am not surprised, I do feel disappointed. It was my first rejection, after all, and I have so many eggs that are just wasting away.

here's what they said :

Thanks so much for applying to our program. Unfortunately we can't
accept all candidates as sometimes there are medical and/or social
reasons which prevent a donor from being chosen. It was an incredible
offer on your part and we wish you the best and acknowledge your
generosity. Due to our volume of calls we won't be able to answer
your request to discuss the reasons why you are not a candidate for
our program but thank you for the time you spent to complete your
profile.

Best Wishes,

The Egg Donor Program

I could see that being a valid reason. Except I didn't give them any medical reason, leaving purely social reasons. It's, I'm GUESSING, my heinous face, the fact that I weigh 158 (I'm 2 pounds below their 160 limit! What an oinker!), or the fact that I have yet to go to college (I had babies young, I am getting around to it VERY soon. Zoology, here I come!). Or a horribly depressing amalgam of them all.

Suffice it so say, I'm kind of upset.

If you don't mind my sayin' so, that's a mighty nice top, ma'am.

2010-02-28T22:15:00.000-08:00

Wow.

So, I finally submitted my form for officially putting myself into an egg donation program. I've done two applications. One for here in Colorado, and the second for a clinic in LA. Though the latter was a COMPLETE joke, and I would be surprised if they asked me to fill out the second form.

check it out :
www.GIVE US YOUR EGGS!.com

I know that a lot of women in the blogging world blog because of infertility. So, if you're one of those mothers with the cash to shell out, go ahead and pick up your darling SUPERDONOR way more awesome than you'll ever be eggs in LA.

I understand the need to be choosy. Someone else's genetic material is going to be growing inside you, and you want to make sure it's top notch. I can't fault you there, I'd want the same thing. However, rationally, a baby is a baby. Do we need it to come from a fucking SUPERDONOR?

My favorite part is the intro :

"Our donors are exceptional and we gladly accept applications from all U.S. States. We represent Superdonors, beautiful and accomplished women with special qualities. A typical donor in our program might be an actress, a model, a talented musician, a fine athlete or an intelligent woman who has or is working towards a higher educational degree. If you have unique qualities, we will match you with a special, loving couple who deserves the extraordinary gesture of your gift. The gift of donation has an immeasurable emotional reward, but we would also like to spoil you! Please click on the blue links below to read on and if you feel we are a good fit – we’d love to hear from you!

Please click on the blue links below to read on.
G Our donors are given beautiful headshots
R We offer the highest level of compensation
A We recognize you for the extraordinary person you are
C You will feel the pure joy of helping an deserving family
E Our donors receive lavish presents in addition to financial compensation"

You know, again. I am all for wanting the best kind of woman to provide you with the eggs you've been desiring for ever.

HOWEVER....

did I miss the memo where talent became an inherent trait? Sure, I am a talented painter. I can draw very well, too. I can sing, I can act...all of these with pretty decent skill level. However. Neither of my parents do either of these things. My mom's mom was a painter, but that's about where the talent starts and stops in my family. How did I manage all of this sweet, sweet milky awesome if I didn't get it from my parents, I wonder? Hm. Must have been a SUPER DONOR.

Really, aside from the laugh and shock I would get if I DID get accepted (you have to send in a picture of yourself. Huh?), I applied because 8 grand is way better than 5. But I'm a little horrified at the whole SUPER DONOR thing. Is anybody else with me on the fact that this sounds kind of reminiscent of Germany circa the 1940s? Should I be gulping because I don't have blond hair and blue eyes?

Crap.

PS -
I do realize the irony in choosing a photo of a woman that does, in fact, h ave blond hair and blue eyes.

YAY! I got TAGGED!!!

2010-02-27T11:04:00.000-08:00

Ok ok ok, so one of my favorite things to do is just rip off other people's genius and wait a long time before I put it in my blog so they don't happen to pass by and notice that I have no brains of my own. But yay!!! I don't have to do that, because the cutie that is Cassandra over at Cassagram tagged me to do the post I was going to steal. Hooray!!!

Sooooooooooooooooooo, this is Photo Tag. I love tag! Here are the rules :

1. Open your 1st Photo folder.
2. Scroll to the 10th photo.
3. Post the photo and the story behind it.
4. Tag 5 or more people.

That's me (left side, red striped jacket) and Tana (right side, wearing a shirt with owls on it that I happen to own as well) being completely thug and awesome. We were at Tony's having booze time and my super duper smart friend Kati wanted to take a picture, so Tana and I both went gangsta for it. For whatever reason, I believe that all guys with the thuggy mentality like...are constantly flashin' gang signs and pursing their lips. We were nowhere near drunk by this time, just all out ridiculous. There's a slew of photos in this folder dedicated to this evening, and some of them were far better than this one, but this one was the tenth.

She so gangsta, I'm so thug. Sweet hot shit.

Time to tag!!!

1. The bestest, @ The Daily Tribal
2. Therese @ Momsicle Vibe
3. Molly @ Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Joy
4. Julie (my ladybird!) @ She Felt a Drop of Rain
5. Citymouse (that's the only name I know!) @ Random Thoughts of a City Mouse

Go go go!!! I can't wait to see!

Songs to make love to your old lady by

2010-02-24T15:07:00.000-08:00

So, I’m pretty sure I’ve made this clear already, but I have a vagina. My particular model is an oldie but a goodie, and comes equipped with several features. Most of the features are completely awesome and make it totally worthwhile (the 2 minute orgasm is a crowd favorite and always will be), but the one feature I HATE? Ridiculously stupid romantic ideals. I didn’t sign up for this, I’m pretty sure it’s not listed anywhere in the warranty guide, and about 5 years ago, I decided I had had enough of my vaginal emotions and their pesky bullshit, so while I couldn’t put them away and be done with them completely, I opted for a tune up.

I wish I could stop talking about my vagina like an appliance.

Truth of the matter.

I used to be stupid idealistic. I wanted what most women and all men want; a happy ending (except a lady’s happy ending will never involve massage oil and a tiny Korean that speaks no English). I wanted my prince charming to whisk me away and say romantic things and buy me flowers and basically fill my life with tender snippets that I would one day lovingly share with my grandchildren as we sat on our wrap around veranda staring at the glorious sunsets of Prince Edward Island (I was a HUGE Anne of Green Gables Fan, ok? It’s the only reason I ever saw myself winding up in Canada) and drinking homemade tea. The crapshoot is, for awhile I actually had a man who was just as fucking lame as I was. He told me we were soul mates and he bought me flowers and put them in wacky places to surprise me and he played me music on his guitar because he was just so fucking sensitive and now I’m beginning to think HE had a vagina. Anyway, long story short, that blew up in my face and started me down a steady, unwavering path of being an outwardly jaded whore that is actually seriously squishy on the inside.

Before John and I were together, and during, and for a little while after, my love song of choice that I felt was the epitome of what love should feel like was Elton John’s The One. Don’t judge me, I still love that song. I was listening to it one day with my mom and she looks at me and goes, who do you think of when you hear this song? I screwed up my silly brains and pinched my face with concentration and said “Not a damn soul.” And that’s when I decided that my ideals needed to go away, because they were bothering me.

And they did.

I am now ideal free, which is nice. Not to say I don’t have dreams and standards, because I love the main squeeze more than anything and I do not for a second feel like I’ve compromised or something better might be floating around out there somewhere, waiting for me. I know there isn’t.

And now to the juice!

Today’s subject is……….is……..IS…….

A REAL LIFE LOVE SONG FOR REAL LIFE PEOPLE

Featuring:

Song : Abusing the Rib

This song is jealous and imperfect and intense and everything that a real love song should be. The first time I heard it, the main squeeze told me he was putting it on a CD for me and that he thought of me when he listened to it now. This was before he was the official main squeeze and he was just my main guy friend that I harbored fairly intense feelings for. This song has a hook like you wouldn’t believe, and very possibly one of the best lines of love song history.

This is not your typical love song, so if you are looking for the smooth stylings of…uh…some romantic crooner, you’re going to be shocked when you hear this. It’s turbulent and moody and dark and possessive and incredibly raw and it is a staple of my listening collection. To me, THIS is how love feels. It feels angry and bitter and complex and hateful and consuming, and that’s completely the tone set by this song. It’s all wrapped up in this “I fucking love you so much” packaging that is hard to resist.

If you have a problem with thinking that most love songs are just candy coated versions of a story land that will never exist for you, give Atmosphere a try. It’s good shit, and I feel pretty ok with using this song as one of the primary songs that defines my relationship with the main squeeze.

Holy shit, she DOES feel shit!

2010-02-20T17:54:00.000-08:00

Alright, so.

Friday, I got the email from my not-anymore-lawyer saying that everything has gone through and I've officially had custody of my daughter stolen from my stupid, stupid hands.

Yuck.

I spent yesterday boozing, I'm still boozing (I have been having an illicit affair with The Captain. He makes me feel warm inside), but since I'm irish AND italian, I can not only hold my liquor, but I can use my brain at the same time. So, after sitting and talking with the main squeeze last night, I've come to a decision.

I can't just throw you head first into my plot without explaining some things first. Get ready!

Despite the willy-nilly vibe and very careless use of slanderous language in my blog, I really am a fairly decent writer (I am making an attempt at modesty here. If this part in parentheses wasn't being written by me in humble mode, I would be telling you that I'm fucking SKILLED when it comes to writing. Shit yes, fuck awesome, I'm incredible at writing) and it has long been my dream to be professionally published with a publishing house held in high esteem. I have often pictured myself having a private lunch with Neil Gaiman, discussing how incredibly excellent we are...seeing my name in the best seller list year after year for the series I've been working on for the last three years...you know. Incredibly normal delusions of grandeur. Aside from the fact that I am mostly up playing my talent, I'm really not half bad. And I DO want to be published. Desperately.

I have, for the last 2 years, been keeping a private journal for my daughter. I haven't really chronicled the events I've been through in great detail, it's mostly about how much I miss my munchkin.

Up to speed for the most part.

I have decided that I want to turn the best of those journal entries into a book. 've chosen my 25 favorites that I thought were the most emotional for me to write, and now I just need to write things in between and set about nabbing myself an agent. While the main squeeze and I discussed it, we both agreed that this story is so unusual that it might help people if I tell it.

Honestly, there's so much to tell that I could spend the next year writing it all down and I'd only be a quarter of the way through.

But tonight, I'm setting on my way to get this started.

I truly believe with all of my heart that God doesn't give you more than you can carry, and I have been a loaded fucking pack mule for the last four years. I need to let go of as much as I can, and I think the only way to do that is to share the experience.

Part of me also hopes that one day, this book will fall into the hands of my daughter, because I know those filthy ass biters won't be sharing anything with me, I will just be permanently erased. I do this more for her and less for my own soul cleansing, but either way, I figure it's a story that could change things for the better.

Songs to make love to your old lady by

2010-02-17T20:52:00.000-08:00

Because I have such an aversion to the words 'make' and 'love' next to each other in a sentence, I find it super important to say that I am making an exception for my new attempt at a weekly blog thing. I thought that was the most hilarious CD title ever.

Anyway. I was in the car this morning belting out Billy Joel with my two year old (for your information, we were singing Go To Extremes, possibly my favorite Billy Joel song in the entire world. The Boy has heard it four times, and he can already sing it with me. He's amazing) when I realized how very important music is to me. Granted, I don't play anything, though if I listen to a song a few times, I can pretty much play it on the piano...thanks for the help, Yanni!....but I do sing. And I sing really, REALLY well. If I couldn't sing one day, I would almost want to kill myself. Tidbit the first.

Tidbit the second.

I find myself so fucking often playing my own soundtrack. For instance, when my fiance proposed to me, I instantly played this song in my head :

And I do it ALL. THE. TIME.

Listening to music and finding situations to relate it to is the primary vein that keeps my life pumping.

It is with that thought in mind that I want to start featuring a song every week (obviously one that I love, duh) and talking about what I relate it to. I do this with two hopes : One, to totally fucking spread the love. This is music I adore, and I love when people adore things I treasure.

This week, I will feature....drumroll, please......

TOTALLY FORBIDDEN PASSION OF THE LOINS

Starring :

The song : Hysteria

I am too lame to figure out how to add the song to the blog, so look it up, because it's completely worth it. Without further ado.

So, yes. I am in a committed, loving, radical relationship with a man that fills me to bursting with love (and not like, the kind of love you keep in your tummy. He does that too, but that's not what I mean). He's everything I want and more and yadda yadda yadda.

But DUDE. A girl crushes. It isn't often, but when a crush comes around, I get completely fucking swept up in it. Mostly because when I DO crush, I crush on someone that I am damn near positive is full of reciprocation for my wanton lust. I am usually positive enough to flirt (really hard and incredibly obviously), but unsure enough to bother my nearest and dearest with "do you think this means he thinks I'm hot?". To be quite honest, crushes for me are gone immediately after finding out where their interest level truly lies, and this is for two reasons. Reason 1: Whoever heard of a requited crush? Nobody, because those are called relationships. If they're into me, I am no longer into them. The buck stops there. The game isn't fun anymore once you win, though basking in the glow of knowing you're freaking awesome and people still want to lay you down and tap that ass is a wicked prize. So, if I find out they really are crushin' right back, I feel cheated out of a good, hard crush and wind up resenting them.

I'm sort of twisted.

Reason Two : If they DON'T like me, yes it's a safer crush to continue, but I am usually too busy drowning in my own ugly pity party to care that nothing would ever happen. And then I usually tell myself they're gay, because this girl is dealing with some SERIOUS issues of denial.

So, I chose this song for my last serious crush that ended almost a year ago, because it's the most possibly devastating crush of my crushing career. He drove me fucking WILD, and during a particularly nasty dry spell between the main squeeze and I, I threw myself into his compliments and nervousness around me and got wrapped up in it so hard I damn near lost my mind. I cannot listen to Hysteria without thinking of him for a second, and it's always during the last six lines. I really had to reign myself in on this crush, because I think if I had been so inclined, I could have taken it to places WAY worse than public displays of juvenile flirtations. I was at a low point of my relationship, and I believe that this particular crush could have broken it if I had tried to do anything about it.

So there you have it. I don't know the relationship status of everyone who reads this, but I do know that most people go through rough patches in their relationship. You feel ugly, unappreciated, unwanted, and all around miserable. But you're a person of high moral fiber and you can't physically cheat because you love your partner. So you do the next best thing and crush. And when your next seriously monumental, could-be-the-bane-of-your-relationship crush comes along, listen to this song and think about them. I sure as fuck did, and this song will always be one of the sexiest in my shuffles because of it.

It's the wood that makes it good

2010-02-17T19:08:00.000-08:00

Honest to God, I have nothing to say.

The end.

When it rains, it damn near floods.

2010-02-08T21:10:00.000-08:00

So, I just got into a fight with my dad. Apparently, my dreams being shattered isn't enough, my family gets to go right along with it.

It seems like everything is going up in flames right now with my family and with Allen's family...and I am struggling to figure out if God is trying to teach me forgiveness, or teach me to let go. I'm just gonna have to pray on it.

In retrospect, I guess I should have known better than to rely on my dad for anything, and perhaps there lies the lesson. I trusted my dad again and he fell through. AGAIN. I am constantly letting people do his to me. After 7 years, I am no longer allowing ex-lover to do it to me, but I can't help but wonder if that's just because I am no longer allowed to contact him. If we were still in "contact", he might still be taking advantage of me at every turn.

Lame.

So, I'm listening to Chicago and lamenting. And I am enjoying every single cheesy second of Peter Cetera.

I's not gonna work now Earl, he's standin' right there!

2010-02-06T12:44:00.000-08:00

I have to get this blog entry started the proper way.

This week, everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. Well, sort of. Monday, I got into a car accident. The only thing that went well with that was my son didn't get hurt. Quite the opposite. He had a blast. He got to ride with mommy to see the doctors in the firetruck, he got a teddy bear from "grandpa" Curt the fireman, he got a junior police badge from the policeman that took us home...that boy had the best day of his life while his mother had several breakdowns all in a row.

Tuesday, I find out that our taxes got all mixed around, so the almost 5 grand I was SUPPOSED to get is now being brought down to an incredibly shitty 1,000 dollars, which ALSO gave me a breakdown. But that wasn't until Wednesday. Here's why.

Wednesday, my dad tells me that he doesn't think this wedding thing is a very good idea and instead is sending me the money he was SUPPOSED to be sending to Villa Parker to me to fix my problem from Thursday (to be explained). Coupled with the blow from Tuesday, Allen and I are scrambling our asses to figure out how to make this work. Moving on.....

Thursday, my NEW car dies. It just decides it can't be bothered exerting any damn effort in the least. I mean, it tries for about 6 seconds, then it just turns itself off. Shit. What else can happen?? OH! I almost forgot. Thursday night, the main squeeze and I get into an argument where he tells me he doesn't know if we should be together. Because I'm one of the meanest most belittling people he's ever met, and I get earth-shatteringly mad at almost everything. Everything got fixed, of course, and we are back to being our normal, happy, love being around each other selves. But it still sucked.

Friday wasn't nearly as bad, but I did catch a lift home from Tiffany, the new girl at the office. Which was very nice of her, and she didn't even want the gas money I offered her. But seriously, she talks so fucking much I want to strangle myself. That's about the worst thing that happened on Friday. I did call the insurance agency on Izzy (that's my old, dead as of Monday car) and they wouldn't tell me anything since I'm not actually the policy holder.

Let's see...today, I got my period. It is a horrible period. I am bloated and moody and crampy and depressed and tired and I just want to shove my face full of food (just got finished eating sushi, apple sauce, and honey mustard and onion pretzels WHAT! Yum.) and go to sleep. To top it all off, I only have my crappy emergency box of tampons, and I have no energy to go get myself the good ones with the nice applicators and the friendliness. No, these are the cardboard ones that feel like you're wearing a protective cornstalk in your damn vagina. Then, we were at the commissary and one of the self checkout lanes broke and they moved us to the OTHER self check out lane (20 items or less...we had 35, but like I said. The 40 item lane broke). And the machine kept messing up and people were tattling on me for having all kinds of items and I started bawling in the middle of the fucking military grocery store. I hate having bad periods like this.

I sure as shit hope tomorrow is a good fucking day, because shit. I don't know how much more disappointment I can take before I kill something

That makes my face embarrassed

2010-01-25T17:32:00.000-08:00

Hooray!!!

So, aside from being pissed at a friend of mine, today was a pretty good day.

In two days, it's time for a second tasting at Villa Parker (yay!) and the main squeeze and I RSVPed for a Valentine's Day affair at Villa Parker as well.I am so excited!!!

Also, my lady bits are in serious, serious pain. I don't know what's going on. It hurts to do almost everything.

The boys and I had Swiss cheesy noodles and garlic herb chicken with peas. MMMMMMM!

Right now, the boy is playing with one of his toys right now and explaining to me how tunnels work.

I've gotten a fair amount of writing done in the last four days. Maybe 6 paragraphs total on two separate blocks of my story, but still. It's more than I've written in awhile.

Talked to my dad today and laid some hard things down on him. Things worked out in my favor, though, and he said he's sending out the first part of the payment tomorrow.

Kind of boring today, but I'm a bit tired and incredibly thirsty. And like I said, my ladybits hurt. A lot. It hurts to sit like this. It hurts to sit at all.

Watch me while I'm awesome!

2010-01-23T17:07:00.000-08:00

So, my very bestest had an assignment to do for her weight-loss forum, and I am COMPLETELY going to steal it. For two reasons. One - I am totally unoriginal
and two - because I love taking opportunities to talk about myself.

And that's what this is. Five reasons why I'm totally fucking kick you in the dick radical.

I asked the main squeeze, and here are the five reasons he gave.

1. You're so inappropriately hilarious. I can honestly say I've never met someone like you.
2. You like to read, and you like to read all kinds of stuff.
3. you're a great mom.
4. You're extremely passionate
5. You're genuinely caring.

These are all direct quotes. And I didn't make them up! The best part is, he said them while he was dancing to The Temper Trap with socks in his hands. He was doing the Charleston. No shit, this is what I live with and I love it. I love his reasons why I'm rad, because I wouldn't have thought of them myself. In fact, I could make a whole blog disputing each reason, but I won't! Today, I am totally rad. Also, I am in a bit of a hurry. My little sister Angel is coming over for movies and greasy mexican food.

So, here are my five reasons that I am suck on your nuts and piss on your teeth fucking awesome.

1. No joke, I am seriously smart. And if I don't know what the hell you're talking about, I can fake it like I do. And I can fake it SO WELL that I will often make up 'facts' that people involved in the conversation will respond to with "Oh...yeah, that totally makes sense!"

2. I am completely and totally loyal. Once you're in my life, it is my sole intention that you stay there. Not just stay there, but be overjoyed about staying there.

3. I've had two babies. And what is more awesome than squeezing wrinkled mini people out of your lady hole? NOTHING. Things may have gone sour with my daughter, but I love my children more than anything in the world.

4. It is a little known secret, but I have what I think is a fairly amazing singing voice. I have several people who will attest to this.

5. I put out. For real.

Those are the first five things that make me rad. Maybe one day, I will completely indulge my ego and share more.

BUt...

What I would REALLY appreciate is if everyone followed suit and left me a comment telling me why they're awesome or make a blog about why you're so awesome. Or, share something about me that makes me awesome. Do it all!!!!! Everything is about sharing how awesome we are, so share share share!

It's a good day to do something fast and excellent!

2010-01-16T07:47:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone!!!

Not very much is going on in my life, but my la la lovely ladybird is a different story. She's part of an amazing group called SLTP, and her organization is currently in the running to win ONE MILLION DOLLARS from Chase Bank.

http://apps.facebook.com/chasecommunitygiving/charities/1001651

I want her to win so badly!!!!

So, if you guys could all take a second to follow that top link and vote (you have to have a facebook account), I would really appreciate it. I know she would really appreciate it.

Come on guys, let's do something excellent today!!

PS - I cannot get it to actually be clickable, so copy and paste would be necessary. I'm so blog stupid.

Who smeared that lovely boy with boogers and shit??

2010-01-08T11:04:00.001-08:00

Dammit, I was late to work this morning. I had some explaining to do.

To set the record straight, I never wanted to have a girl, even though I love my daughter more than anything. I hoped and prayed every day for a little boy with both of my pregnancies. I thought with my daughter that my wish had been granted...I had several ultrasounds telling me I was having a boy...with the little penis arrow and everything. Lo and Behold, when I was finished baking my little bun and farted her on out, the doctor held her up and was like "Here's your daughter!" leaving me going...."Where's her penis??" I was perplexed to say the least. But, my daughter is clearly beautiful, and I was and am grateful that she is healthy and mine (fuck you, paperwork in California! Stick it in your magic machine and kiss my ass!)

When I got pregnant with my son, both the main squeeze and I knew, even before the 3D ultrasounds, that the massive bump in my tummy had itself all the traits of a boy, including the penis my daughter was missing. I was so delighted.

Being a woman, which basically means I'm a walking talking inferiority complex, I decided I NEEDED to have boys, because of that timeless phrase "Oh, he's such a mommy's boy", so I would have a gorgeous little boy who loved me and adored me no matter how bad my hair looked, or how long it had been since I shaved my legs. This was, of course, before I dated ex-lover and saw what a nasty pain in the ass dating the wrong kind of momma's boy could be. Anyway, I just never wanted girls. I know how I was when I was a teenager, and it freaked me out when I looked at my precious little girl in her adorable little pink outfits with cutesy flowers and fuzzy sheep that she would trade it all one day for booze and copious amounts of dick (if she was anything like her father. Oh, did I say that? Oops.). I had horrible flashes of her coming home at 17 knocked up, much like I did, and then having to beat the baby out of her. It all got very messy in this tragic head of mine.

Imagine my relief when I had my son.

I had no fucking clue that having boys could be such a disgusting fucking chore.

I woke up this morning and did my usual routine: pet the kitties, snuggle in my blankets, futz on the computer for a minute or two, then open up The Boy's door and let my morning noises gradually wake him up out of his slumber. When I opened his door this morning, he was laying in bed, but was fully awake, so I looked at him and smiled and said good morning and he smiles at me and says "Oh Christ!". I have a sailor's mouth and The Main Squeeze and I try to curb it, but sometimes a situation gets the better of us. Does the boy copy us saying "That's lovely!" No. We get Oh Christ! So, I giggle internally and tell him not to say that, and I go back out into the living room and chuckle a bit more. Out pads the boy, looking adorable in his footy pajamas...that he has completely unzipped.

"What are you doing out here, buddy? Want to lay down and snuggle mommy for a few minutes?" Normally, this is where The Boy asks me if I need a hug, which I always say yes to, who wouldn't? But this morning he changed his tune.

"Mommy it's gross!" Immediately, my mom hackles are raised, and I gingerly sniff the air, but I'm sick and can't detect the shit odor I was expecting. So, I get up.

"What's gross, love? Can mommy fix it?"

"Fix it?" and he shows me a hand full of boogers. So, I giggle and tell him that yes, it is gross, but we'll go wash his face and the little snot (very literally!) runs away from me and straight into his room, slamming the door behind him before he collapses in front of it in a heap of giggles. Damn, I've been thwarted by a two year old. This happens all the time, and because I A) don't want to hurt my son and 2) have the muscles of a fetus, I cannot push the door open when he plants himself in front of it. So, I knock on the door and get him to play the "who is it?" game that he's so fond of. So, he asks me who is it and I can open the door, and Oh. My. God.

My son is brown and green, which actually matches his puppy footy pajamas very well, but I'm swing jawed. He has gotten himself out of his pajamas and found himself a steaming heap of poop from his pull-ups to play in. And he has the biggest grin on his face. A face that is covered in boogers. Upon closer inspection, I can see that he has been wiping away his boogers to different regions of his face....with his poop hand.

The next five minutes are a Benny Hill-esque montage of The Boy running to different parts of the house, laughing hysterically, while I follow close behind, too in love with how happy he looks to be playing this disgusting game to be grossed out or frustrated. This is a game we thought he had gotten tired of playing, but because he's a boy, he was just waiting to spring it on us.

I gave him a nice bath in lye (that's obviously not true), while he sang about gross, icky poop.

And that, my friends, is how I explained my being late to my boss.

I'm squishing up a baby bumble bee!

2010-01-06T16:00:00.000-08:00

Oh, the last few days have been busy busy busy and wonderful and horrible and most other adjectives that do not complement each other in the least.

First, my son had Croup. The boy was MISERABLE for two days before we saddled up and took him to the doctor. And now, he's as big a trouble maker as he was before, if not more so. To keep the fun ball rolling, I got a throat infection that strangled my vocal chords and I lost my voice for two days. Not cute. But that's about it for the bad parts!

Last week, the bestest, her hubbers, the main squeeze and I penned out a new 8 week regimen to get us all in tip top shape. We took our body measurements, gave ourselves an 8 week goal, and the bestest and I have been using Skype as a means to keep each other motivated while we do the same workout together. And it's helping so much! She's already lost 3 pounds (that's my diligent and effective best friend!), and I won't be weighing myself for another 3 weeks. But, for posterity, here are my basic stats :

I am 5'9 and weigh 162.2

At the end of this 8 weeks, I would like to weigh 150. That is my pre-pregnancy weight, and the weight I feel I look best at. I won't put everyone else's weight up, that's just not good manners.

The Main Squeeze and I went to the saucy italian villa of my dreams for a tasting event last night, and I haven't had this much fun with the wedding process since I bought my dress. I had such a good time! The Main Squeeze did, too, and he fell in love with my saucy villa just like I knew he would, so there is nothing stopping us now (except for the money we dumped into our hospital journey this last week, we just need to regroup our funds before we sign the contract. ASAP!). We met a few of the preferred vendors, I decided I would like to imprint my rad creativity and make my own invitations, I found the dj I WON'T be getting, got to say hello to Molly for a little bit (love her, she's totally adorable and fun!), and ate some food. I put The Main Squeeze in charge of food, because I needed to give him SOMETHING to be in charge of, and I know he thinks food is just as important as I do. Honestly.....I wasn't wowed by the food they chose to serve. It looked beautiful, smelled amazing....and fell short in the taste category. We had a deconstructed French Onion soup that I thought was like spooning a rabbit's salt lick into my poor mouth, and then a fricasee of chicken on mashed root vegetables (those two things were delicious, I won't even lie. Yum yum yum) with sauteed spinach on a tomato fonduta with pureed leek. Fucking YUCK. The spinach was horridly stringy and urbbery, the puree and tomato paste tasted like stale baby food.....I was disappointed, but put on my yummy face for appearances. Main Squeeze said he wouldn't mind going with that vendor, because the food tasted alright to him, and it looked delicious and classy (which it did. On both counts). I wanted to make sure it didn't look too pretentious, because I don't want my wedding to seem like we're posturing for this one day and pretending to be this glorious and sophisticated couple when we're really a bunch of beer guzzling hoodlums (we're not by the way), I want it to be us through and through. The Main Squeeze said that, while we don't always have caviar and read Tennyson by firelight, we do have our moments when we're not just kids in our mid twenties that like to have a good time and don't give a shit about appearances. Sometimes, we like to do things that reflect that small parts of our lesser known champagne tastes. And he's right. And I agree that a wedding is the perfect time to do that. I am still not wholly sold on the food, but there is another tasting on the 27th, and my smooth mommerator gave me an idea last night that I have to see through...we have a few options to explore right now.

Soooooo, la la lovely Ladybird and I are going to be undertaking a new project, and I could be more excited!!! We're going to start a journal and then send them to each other, build on each other's journals, and send them back and forth. I cannot wait! I already bought the perfect journal (after much deliberation in the aisles of Target), but am waiting until Ladybird buys hers, as well. This will be an amazing bonding experience!!!!

I wanted to end this first blog of the new year on a really positive note and put down ten things that I'm eternally thankful for. I am putting them in no particular order, these are just the things I thank God for anytime I have the opportunity.

1. My children.

2. My health

3. My friends (they mean the world to me, and if there was no main squeeze, they would absolutely be the loves of my life)

4. My family

5. My dashingly handsome, charming, and silly fiance.

6. My animals (especially my cats, and ESPECIALLY ESPECIALLY my Galouli Bean)

7. My Little Sister Angel

8. My job (even though it's complicated sometimes, and my boss can be stubborn)

9. My intelligence

10. My life overall.

How perfect is it that we're here???

Stake your claim while the gettin' is good

2009-12-24T06:03:00.000-08:00

I once wrote, when I lived in Vegas, about a morning very much like this one.

I am currently alone in my house (sort of. My son is sleeping, so I have the house to myself), and I'm making myself coffee. I just took a peek outside, and my beautiful Colorado is washed over in light blue, and I am seeing magic. The snow looks almost purple, and it's sparkling. Norman Rockwell would shit himself.

I can see the mountains in the distance, just like in Vegas, and I am also claiming them as mine. People have yet to start the hustle and bustle of this beautifully frosty Christmas Eve, so nobody can argue with me.

I am now the proud owner of two sets of mountains. If I keep giving my heart away to these rocks, I won't have any left for myself!

Please don't take my heart away

2009-12-20T10:11:00.000-08:00

So, Friday night, I got the email I've been pushing out of my brain for the last two months.

The final judgment is in from the courts, and I quote, "The child's best interests will be served by declaring the minor child free from the custody and control of Ms Ondrea Hatesherlife, and there is no less detrimental alternative to provide for the child's best interests."

Now, I know what I signed up for when I told Ex-lover that if he dropped his case, I would sign over my parental rights and they would be free to continue lying to my daughter, but not have to worry about what I could possibly tell her to turn around what they've poisoned her with.

The wording is what really kills me, as the courts didn't get to determine anything, because I never got my day. My ex-lover royally fucked me over when it came to this whole procedure, and brought this to an arena he knew I couldn't fight with....money. He outsourced his method of payment to one of the members of his family...presumably somebody who grows/sells pot in the most illegal of fashions up there in charming California, and there is no way I could have come up with the funds he did. As it was, I gave up my wedding/house fund to get a lawyer in the first place. And Ex-lover has to know that if he hadn't outspent me, there is no way he could have won this case. He absconded my daughter, and kept her from me.

I'm disappearing for a few days, because I have nothing fun to say right now, nor will I anytime soon. The main squeeze has already told me my blog is depressing, so I want to quit while I'm ahead, for now.

When life gives you lemons, let life know you'll cut a bitch.

2009-12-16T12:00:00.000-08:00

So, today started off like any other morning. I sign on to gmail, start chatting with my two gorgeous and wonderful lady-friends, and then my bestest schou schou face (my only schou schou face!) tells me that she's giving me a blog award!

WOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

I am so excited I could literally spit. But I'm in my office and I don't think my boss would appreciate me just snarfing up a hot loogie and spitting it out. Very messy, very un-ladylike.

But she gave me the Honest Scrap award, and it's the best award ever, mostly because if you say it fast, it sounds like honest crap.

So, I guess the deal here is I need to write ten honest things about myself. Hm. This could be the hardest thing EVAR, mostly because I tell myself lies about me all the time (for instance, yesterday morning I woke up and told myself I was a Nobel Prize winning Astro-Physicist) and I'm not really sure what to believe anymore. Mostly because it's depressing to wake up and be like...Who am I? Oh. I'm a 25 year old chunkmeister that works a dead end job. Yeah, telling myself I'm a unicorn when I wake up in the morning is way more fun than reality.

Here it goes!

Introducing Ten facts about me that I hope harder than shit are actually true!!!! *

1. I cry INCREDIBLY easily. Seriously, there are some movies I need to watch by myself because it's just embarrassing how quickly the tears flow. Like Homeward Bound. Gets me every time. It applies to almost everything, not just movies. If The Main Squeeze and I fight, in order to quell the tears, I have to laugh. And it's inappropriate and shameful, but everything in the world makes me cry.

2. I believe in God, but not like most people believe in God. I fucking despise churches, I have a problem with preists, and the bible is an absolute snorefest when read in it's entireity. I talk to God every day, I lean on God when I'm not strong enough to stand on my own, and I tell my son every night how much God loves him. I know God is there, and I know God listens and loves me. The flip side is, I am constantly praying to God that I'm not using Him as a safety blanket to sheild me from recognizing that I am, in fact, alone and completely without purpose.

3. After four years of dealing with all the nasty things my ex has said about me in regards to my daughter, I am starting to believe every single one of them. I'm starting to believe I abandoned my daughter, and that the reasons I gave when I left her with Ex-lover (and they were good, solid reasons) are just bullshit lies I told myself to keep the guilt at bay. I don't quite know how to cope with this, except to absolutely smother my son to compensate for everything I wasn't given the opportunity to do for my daughter. For instance...I spent 300 on Christmas presents for my son this year. When I got my tax return last year, I spent 600 redecorating his room with everything that he loves. I buy him a new book everytime we get the opportunity, and sometimes (VERY rarely, because I feel bad about my disruption), I wake him up in the middle of the night just to snuggle him. And then I sit in the corner of his bedroom and cry over my daughter. I have the largest desire to make sure my son is never without his mother, and I am constantly pushing aside the deep knowledge that I will smother him and he'll hate me for it one day. But I'd rather have him hate me for being there too much than not being there at all.

4. I am an incredibly proud member of the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program. My Little Sister's name is Angel, and I completely adore her. I do not get to spend as much time with her as I'd like (there was a flub in the rules and she lives WAY farther from me than she's supposed to, but I don't mind the drive. And as an additional fun factor, my car sucks balls, so there's an issue of safety), but when I do, it's some of the happiest times in my life. We go to the movies, and we get greasy fast mexican food and eat it in my car and chat and joke, we go to the penny arcade, and she turned me on to scrapbooking. I have a fear that I will not be as big an impact on her as she is on me, but I'm working on it. For now, I just enjoy having a complete blast with a 14 year old and indulging in my inner teenager's silliness.

5. I use sex as everything it's not supposed to be used for, and I have a very severe hatred of the term "making love". Just writing it made me cringe. I don't think sex between a husband and wife or a long-term boyfriend and girlfriend has to be an expression of their feelings, I think it can just be good old fucking for the un-paralleled fun of fucking. But I have used sex as a weapon (I don't withhold, because dammit, I just love to fuck too much), I have used it as a tool to get what I want, and most damagingly, I have used it as a guage to determine the health and happiness of my relationships. That never works out to my advantage, and I start worrying about how attractive I am, if there's someone else they're interested in, if everything is just stagnant because it's been such a long time of the same sex with the same person, etc. It fucks with me, so I spend a good deal of time spazzing out over my sex life.

6. I fucking HATE the fact that I have naturally curly hair. I know everyone says the want it and they hate their straight hair and it's so boring and blah blah blah...having curly hair sucks fat, nasty dick. I spend two hours making sure my hair looks straight as can be, and while it's frustrating, the payoff is well worth the effort. I actually get fucking pissed when people say they wish they had curly hair, because they're just too stupid to realize that no, in fact, they would fucking hate it. It's not fun, it's like carrying a fucking heavy ass shetland pony on your head, and it's just as complicated to brush. If I brush out my hair on the rare occasion I wear it curly, I look like the bride of frankenstein, hair all shockingly large and way too out there to be real. It's disturbing and ugly.

7. I love where I live so much. I live in Colorado, I can see the mountains from my balcony, the air is clean and crisp, and I feel safe and at home here. The flip side is, I would give all of this up in a heartbeat if it meant I could live near every single one of my family memebers in a place I absolutely hate.

8. I LOVE Lady GaGa. She is fucking batshit crazy and takes herself way too damn seriously, but fuck it all if I don't think she's fabulous. I also love that the main squeeze admits that he enjoys her, as well. It's like having this shamefully dirty secret that you love to keep hidden. Even though I'm very vocal with my love for the Lady. I don't think I should be, but I completely and utterly adore her stupid, ridiculous, over the top antics.

9. Along the vein of loving really shitty music, I have some very secret musical loves. The top of the list? Dan Fogelburg. I could listen to him for months on end. Simon and Garfunkle is another one. These are obviously not shitty artists, but they're ones that I, for some reason, am not open about loving. I should be, because they're excellent.

Last but not least....

10. I sometimes really hate that I'm intelligent, because it would be so much easier to be ignorant and oblivious. Being smart means I'm culpable for my actions, and it also means I need to recognize when I'm suffering the consequences of something that I've done. It's frustrating, and I really do have moments where I envy people like Ex-Lover and New Girlfriend, because they have the....freedom?...to just do what they please because they have no concept of cause, effect, or consequences. I know I should relish my God-given brains, but sometimes, I really just wish I was ten years old again and everyone could make the best decisions for me and I wouldn't have to carry the weight of them on my own.

* They totally are.

Yes mom, I know, but do we really have to talk about your uterus right now?

2009-12-14T19:56:00.000-08:00

I'm slacking. Really bad.

I've been so unblogger lately, I feel ashamed. But I've been busy!

The Main Squeeze and I went out and did all of our Christmas shopping in one day, blew about 400 bucks, and I feel fantastic about it.. We only have his sister (who hates everything, because she's a spoiled, 32 year old turd) and his parents left. But I know what I'm getting them, I just haven't actually bought it.

I'll get it soon enough, I have two weeks left.

I am really pleased with all of the presents we've bought everyone this year. Last year was sort of a sucky Christmas, although we did buy the main squeeze's parents a brand spankin' new stainless steel GE Monogram dishwasher (woohoo!!). Since I can't top that this year, we're having The Boy draw them a picture and we're going to have it mounted and framed. I think it's a pretty cool gift idea, and I'm excited about it.

Went to the Big Brothers, Big Sisters Spirit of the Season Christmas party on Saturday, and had such a good time. I love my little sister Angel. She's got so much potential, and she's wonderful. I love her family, too. I was so glad to spend time with all of them together, and even though I couldn't stay more than two hours, I wouldn't trade those two hours for anything in the world.

The Boy (who is only two, need I remind) has been walking around twon slinging out glorious phrases like "Jesus Christ" and "Oh Dammit" and our newest addition, "well, fuck". We do our best to not swear around him, because he's at the age, repeating everything he hears, and we have serious potty mouth anyway and it would be nice to curb the swearing. But besides having this incredibly receptive brain, he also has the hearing of something that hears really well. We'll have a private conversation in our room, and then The Boy will come in and repeat just the worst part of the conversation (like "sexy times" at a family dinner. We're keepin' it real classy) and will be delighted when we tell him not to.

Children.

And the crowd goes wild

2009-12-07T20:27:00.001-08:00

First, I wanted to thank Colorado for this beautiful weather it's given me. Four inches of snow...more on the way...fucking glorious. Second, I want to give a HUGE shout to to my car, that had the excellent idea to up and die on me this weekend, leaving me car-less and afraid of getting fired.

Such wonderful ways to start the week.

Today was a swarm fest of busy at my work, which surprised me, as we're usually fucking dead on Mondays. Denver closed out their side of the month, so I have 5 days of paperwork to catch up on in a day.

I'm doing secret searching, and I think my search has ended.

I feel blessed to still be puzzling over what to do my Wicked Wednesday about.

I am completely boring today. Hoping to keep my postings more regular now that I'm no longer bogged down by the most awful stomach virus ever created!

Just kidding! The worst punchline EVER

2009-12-03T14:47:00.000-08:00

This is like, the worst blog ever.

So, you know how I posted that picture of the dress I bought the other day for my impending nuptials? Just kidding.

I cancelled my order today. Rather, my bestest did it for me because I wouldn't have been able to make it through the phone call. I also cancelled all of my plans to go see other venues, and told my favored venue that I appreciated the help, but that it just wasn't going to happen.

Here's the scoop, kids.

Last night, I made a wedding webpage for me and the main squeeze. I was all proud of myself, I thought it was fun and neat and completely us. On the website are the normal things, of course (er, were. I cancelled it today as well)...and there was a special page for our registry. Because we've been living in sin for the last few years, there really isn't anything we need for our home. So I thought it would be much more fun to register for our honeymoon. So, I was showing it to the main squeeze today and I asked him if all of this wedding stsuff was freaking him out. His answer? "Not really."

Hm.

So, I asked him what was keeping him from not being totally freaked out, and he just completely unravels about money. Now, I know weddings are costly, but I have worked it out in my head to where nobody suffers and we still get to have the wedding that I really want, and that he really wants as well. He left everything in my hands, because he said he trusted my tastes. Damn well he should, my tastes fucking rock worlds.

Anyway. He says he doesn't think we can do it and that we'd be living EXTREMELY lean for the next year and we'd have to make all kinds of sacrifices. And then, he very nicely ends with "If you're willing to make that sacrifice, then so am I and we can go ahead and do it". Which is unfair. So, I chose (if that's the right word, even though I feel like he made the choice and just didn't want to vocalize it) to call everything off. In light of everything that's happened with my daughter, I can't bear the thought that I'd be making my son give up stuff...even if it's just a book...for a one day gala for me.

So everything is cancelled. I have to turn around and tell everyone ONCE AGAIN that I was just kidding. But this time, I'm not picking up again in a few months. I'm done. It's too heartbreaking to continually suffer this kind of disappointment. Oh, have I not mentioned this is the THIRD time we've put wedding plans in the works? So it's also the third time I've been let down about them. That's too many.

I was outside smoking a cigarette (keepin' it classy!) and I realized that, by the end of the month, the papers will be signed in California and I will have relinquished my daughter forever. It is absolutely crushing to know that I was forced to give up two huge dreams that I set out to achieve thinking they were attainable and then being totally crushed. I lose my daughter and my wedding all in one month. The Christmas month. This is not a good time.

I suppose I should be feeling happy about all of the other good things I have in my life. But I can't ight now. I feel totally bitter. I am not refusing to go to a wedding for one of the main squeeze's friends because I wouldn't be happy, I'd be tremendously jealous.

I can't help but feel that this is about me and not about money. That for some reason, he's finding excuses so he doesn't have to come right out and say it's you, I don't want to marry you. I'm used to that. I almost got married at 16, but he didn't want to marry me. And flat out told me so....AFTER he asked. Then Ex-Lover never asked me at all until he wanted to use it as a last ditch effort to keep me around, so it was essentially an empty offer...and now I'm on my third and final "sorry, not this time" with the main squeeze. A girl certainly feels confused.

Wicked Wednesday...now with more Wednesday!

2009-12-02T14:20:00.000-08:00

Oy. Let's make today's Wicked Wednesday short and sweet.

Food Poisoning.

Having just come off of a two days complete body purging, I can tell you it is definitely one of nature's most hideous afflictions.
Everyone is familiar with the symptoms of food poisoning...throwing up, being crampy, cold/hot flashes, pissing out of your ass...it's not cute, but that's how it goes. We all know. And this will bring us into a very oooooold wicked action, perpetrated by dear old Dad.

When I was 4 years old, I got sick. Really sick. Barfing, diarrhea, the whole nine yards. I was living in New York at the time with my mom and my dad, and I had no idea, but my parents were on the cusp of seperation. That doesn't really tie in, by the way, I just want pity. Just kidding. Anyway, my dad was a bartender, so having a long night shift, he slept during the day and left at night. I didn't get to hang out with him very much. I took every opportunity to be with him that I could, and I had no idea, but I really should have just let him sleep. Most of the 'quality time' I spent with my dad as a little girl has had long-term negative effects on my psyche. My father is why I'm afraid of the dark (deathly afraid. It's fairly pathetic that at 25, I am STILL scared of the dark and have to sleep with some sort of light on in my house, but that's how it is. Thanks, Dad!), why I'm afraid of spiders, and why I'm writing this wicked wednesday post about him.

So, back to having the flu at age four. To this day, when I am sick, I am a total baby. I cry for my mommy, I whine until I get my way...generally, there are tears all around. I was that way when I was little...but at least back then, it was excusable. So, let's paint a picture, shall we? I'm an adorable little four year old with a moppy head of curls, all plastered on my face from sweat and raw exertion (best portrait of me EVER!) and I am absolutely bawling my ass of for my mommy. My mom wasn't available, so my dad comes strolling in, cool as you please, eating an apple. You may think this is a lot of detail for me to remember, but this singular scenario has fucked me up completely. I will never, ever forget it. I'm crunched over the toilet barfing out whatever jar of play-doh and mud clumps I consumed (one of my favorite games when I Was little was "Kitchen"...and I would take all kinds of horrible for me ingredients, turn them into something even more horrible for me, and eat them with great gusto. At four, I didn't have that picky a palate) and my dad sits down on the bathtub rim, and starts cleaning off my face with toilet paper. I am still crying, of course, and my dad looks at me and says exactly this : "Drea, there isn't time for tears right now. Every time you throw up, you're so much closer to dying."

I'll give you some space so that can really sink in.

Are we all on the same page of how the fuck could he? Cool.

So, yeah. With one sentence, my dad completely fucked up my make-myself-feel-better sense of preservation. I have been so completely scarred by that experience that I now REFUSE to vomit.

So, in summation :

Today's Wicked Action : Any number of things my father told me as a child, but most importantly, that throwing up will fucking make you die.

Today's way of coping with it : Refusing to vomit.

Now, today's way of coping might not sound so bad to you. In fact, let me just throw in here that I have not thrown up in 14 years. I don't know many people who can say that and not be lying. But I really haven't. Her's why it's a really fucking stupid way to deal with my phobia - I dry heave instead. This sicks out my fiance like nobody's business. It sicks me out, too. Because with my dry heaving, the only thing that's actually making it not vomit is the vomit coming OUT of my mouth. I just sort of keep everything in my throat and make sure it knows that there is no way on God's Green Earth I am letting it leave the premises of my throat. So, I taste it, I feel it, I heave...I just send it right back from whence it came. In retrospect, vomiting is actually a lot less disgusting. But I just can't bring myself to vomit. I've actually...in a fit of dry-heaving, tried to let myself just puke. And after 14 years of repression, the vomit just knows where to go. I am powerless to control this. I just hold my nose and essentially hold my breath, then I get REALLY intense hot flashes, and then I shiver for a good hour until the next wave comes along. I am convinced that if I could just let go and puke, I would instantly feel better. But not for this 25 year old that's also afraid of the dark....THANKS, DAD!!!!!

I need therapy.

I'm melting...melting!

2009-11-29T19:08:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a whirlwind few days. I missed a Wicked Wednesday, but that's ok. The last one was so incredibly long.

Let's see, what have I done this last wekk. Had Thanksgiving at the main squeeze's parents house, got a PUPPY (!!!!), didn't clean my house like I should have....oh yeah. And I bought my wedding dress. FUCKING YAY!!!! I am so damn happy, I have been fighting the urge to shit my pants all weekend.

There it is!!! It's a Maggie Sottero, and it's all mine. I got a killer deal on it, too. Normally 1200, got it for 8. The Main Squeeze's mom is a seamstress at the salon I got it from, so I got a massive amount of hook-up. Now if I could just settle on a venue.

I am about to attempt some mild clean up and make sugar cookies. I bought a shit load of sugar cookie stuff(cookie frosting, colored piping gel, sprinkles, cookie cutters...I'm going to have a ball) and I can't wait to start making them. And EATING them. Though, I have to get serious about this weight loss thing. I ordered my dress in a size ten, because that's what fits me, but of course I want to be thinner when it gets here. Not too much thinner, but enough that there needs to be some serious altering done.

Woohoooooo!!!! It's the holiday Season, and I feel fucking merry.

Wicked Wednesday, Starring Bruce Willis

2009-11-18T12:23:00.002-08:00

It's another Wicked Wednesday!

First thing on the agenda is to bitch about this stupid honker of a zit I have on my forehead. It's like a talisman of anti-sex. What's even worse, is it's a deep under the skin kind of pimple, and there's no way of properly attacking the fucker without blasting it with tank missiles. This is not attractive.

Today's actual Wicked Wednesday post is about Ex-lover....again. Now, this might seem bitter, but I promise you. It is.

Ex-lover and I met when I was very, very young. I was 17, he was 23. We were extreme polar opposites, and still are. In retrospect, I cannot think of any solid reason why I got involved. Aside from the fact that he was EXTREMELY charming, I wasn't attracted to him physically, he wasn't very well-read, and he cared more about his car than he did about anything else. I name my car (Izzy is who I currently drive. Don't tell her this, but she's almost ready to die. And I personally think she's a nasty, dirty whore that can't pull her own weight and wants me to fix all of her inner problems. I can't stand that shit. I'll be replacing her with a newer, younger model in the very near future) and I talk to it, but Ex-lover constantly looked like he was about ready to shove his dick into the exhaust pipe and whisper sweet nothings into the sideview mirrors. And he gave it a total stripper name. Candy. Ew. Long story short, he was in love with his car. Back to me and Ex-lover.

When ex-lover broached the idea of being an exclusive item, I wasn't really ready for that kind of thing. My previous boyfriend had asked my best friend if she would read his tarot cards to see if she'd sleep with him (and really, you can't make that kind of stuff up. Matt was gorgeous and completely doofy...but why not cut out the middle man and ask her yourself? She was sitting right there) so, instead of seeing that as a one time fluke of a seriously silly boy, I decided that all guys wanted to sleep with my best friend and I wanted to play the field for awhile. Plus...I was seventeen. Totally not the time to be tied down. But, ex-lover charmed the living daylights out of me. Nobody had ever told me "I don't think of anybody but you, and thinking about you makes me smile". Oh, it seriously made my vagina wrinkle with monogomy. So, I fell for it hook, line and sinker, though at the time I thought I was taking someone for their word because I pretty much rule, they recognized it and wanted to surround themself with it. I was so wrong (although I do rule).

Ex-lover also had an ex-lover that he was still friends with, and I didn't find this out until I started spending the night over at his apartment. One gorgeous, sun drenched March morning in Las Vegas, I slowly opened my eyes and watched the sun break through the blinds, and then I stopped to listen to a female voice cooing through the house. I thought, at first, that one of ex-lover's smarmy roommates had found some girl and brought her home, but because Ex-lover's room was in the den, I could see everyone's rooms from where I was sleeping. Everyone was asleep, alone, except Ex-lover, of course. So, I continued to listen, and finally figured out that it was the message machine. I won't ever, ever forget that message. "Sorry you couldn't be with me last night. I missed you, baby. Can't wait to see you again. Oh, and Ex-lover...*mmmmmmuah*" Ok, so she didn't call him ex-lover, she used his name. And she actually DID leave a big, fat, whore sounding air kiss at the end of the message. I had no idea then that it would be a common theme in their conversations. Depressingly enough, I can chalk this Wicked Wednesday action up to my complete and utter gullibility and stupidity, but I'd prefer to not make this my fault.

Before I came into my own, I had this ridiculous need to be "the girlfriend that was so completely cool that you had to brag about her to your friends". I acheived the latter part of my goal, but I wouldn't call it bragging about how awesome I was. It was more like boasting about how getting away with cheating was never easier than when you're dating me. It probably sounded like a fucking infomercial.

"Tired of all those girlfriends that have enough self-esteem to know when you're cheating on them?" :::cut away to a very flustered man in a heated screaming match with a girl holding up a pair of panties...it is obvious they aren't hers. He will then turn to the camera and frown, holding up his h ands in the ' I don't know!' position while his girlfriend continues to yell:::
"Wish you could parade your dick around town and stick it in whoever you want while simultaneously keeping your 17 year old girlfriend from having any fun whatsoever?" :::man is obviously interested and nods....girlfriend is still yelling:::
"Sound like you need a Drea! Yes, a Drea. Having a Drea means you can complain about her having male friends, but still be allowed to keep your own female friends! Girls can call and leave you risque messages, and she'll just smile and nod! But wait, there's more! If you order in the next twenty minutes for a Drea of your very own, we'll throw in her believing you aren't sleeping with those girls on the message machine for free! That's right, free!!"

All of those things I did, and more. I cried, and got angry, and yes. I ditched all of my guy friends and waited at home for Ex-Lover while he clubbed it up with girls and fucked anything that was willing and walking. Maybe not even walking, he wasn't all that picky. During the year we lived together in Vegas, I was so positive he and his ex-lover were still nailing each other. He told me they were just close, and since she was married and he was with me, I had nothing to worry about. Her husband was the nicest man in the world. I am also a fairly nice person. And we were both hopeless fucking idiots.

After Ex-lover and I split, I moved in for a short time with one of his good friends. A good enough friend that he spilled the beans about every single nasty thing that ex-lover ever did to me. On my 18th birthday, I had a deluxe and severely pimpin suite at the Flamingo. My 'rents took me to see Cirque Du Soleil and we had a gorgeous gourmet dinner, but ex-lover couldn't come because it was a special just me and my parents evening. He met me at the suite, told me he'd go out with his buddies and he'd be back by ten and would wait for me to get there. I got back to the suite at around 9, called a few of my friends to dish about my evening, and took a bath. Ten came and went. At around midnight, a few of my friends from my dad's work came and visited me, hung out for about an hour, and then left. To go home. Because it was fucking late. so, from around 1 am to 4 am, when I finally saw his car on the Strip, I sat with my head against my suite window, tears torrenting down my face, watching for that stupid red Mitsubishi. If you're curious about what happened, I was too. For years. Until Matt gave me the skinny. Ex-Lover told me that he and his good buddy Matt (the same Matt I lived with, doi) had gone to a bar and gotten pulled over for speeding. The cop searched their car and found...surprise of surprises...marijuana!!!! Now, up to this point, it's pretty believable. Ex-lover was an avid pot smoker. I think he loved it almost as much as he loved his car, but I'm probably wrong. I know he always carried someon his person, because he couldn't go more than 20 minutes without smoking. Calling it an addiction is selling it short. Anyway, so they get pulled over, cop finds weed, and then KEEPS THEM THERE FOR 5 HOURS. Which was illegal at the time. Anything over a half hour for a pull-over needed to be brought to the nearest station. Did ex-lover go to the station? Nope. He tells me that afer 5 hours, the cop just ever so nicely releases them and doesn't give them a ticket, just confiscates their marijuana. Sends them on their merry way. And the worst part is I BELIEVED EVERY WORD. I was rehashing this event with Matt, and he stopped me to tell me that no, that is not what happened in the least. Ex-lover was with HIS ex-lover. Matt was the person who informed me that a cop cannot, by law, keep you on the side of the road for 5 hours. Fast-forward a few years.

Because in my heart of hearts I knew something wasn't right with Ex-lover and his ex-lover, I had a very destructive relationship with her. Remember when I said that I wanted to be the cool girlfriend? I had decided that being the cool girlfriend entailed making friends with his ex-lover. And I despised her. She wasn't very pretty, but she definitely unique looking in a way that I could understand was striking. Ex-lover constantly compared everything in the world to her. She was a measuring stick that was impossibly tall and the shadow of it hung heavily over my head reminding me that all I could be was second best. Anyway, I did some incredibly spiteful things to her, because I was jealous and hateful and mad at ex-lover. For instance, I found a bunch of nude photographs of her...taken in Ex-lover's room AFTER we had changed it around so there was no mistaking when they were taken...and I posted them. On her journal. Just to be a bitch. We stopped pretending to be friends after that. But I sent her an apology email a couple of years ago, and once I sent that to her, she said I was a "breath of fresh air" and then she spilled her can of beans, as well. More proof I was a doucheface for sticking around.

There are other things I won't go into detail about, because I've already winded everyone half to death. He was a cheating, lying bastard end of story. So, the final part that makes this all so wicked.

Today's Wicked Action : Being such an incredibly dickfaced shoe-fucker that you poison your now ex-lover into never trusting anyone ever again, because she sees what a fat lot of good that did her the first time around.

Today's way of coping with it : I prescribe to several different doses of coping. First of all, I slander ex-lover horribly. Both to him and when he can't defend himself. I made sure to tell his new lover (the lovely woman that usurped my daughter. She's a bitch, anyway, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a soul or feelings) that he told me...word for word...."If I brought our daughter down to come see you, I'd have to fuck you." This was said while his new lover was living with him, and pregnant with their child. What a catch, can't believe I was fool enough to let him go. Secondly, I slept around with reckless abandon to insure that I didn't get in a relationship where I would get my heart broken again. That was probably the best one. Also the most lonely, so I cut that. It was most definitely NOT too legit to quit. Third, and the most bitter, horrible way to cope of all, but it's a compulsion I cannot stop for the life of me : I project my fear of being gullible and looking stupid onto my main squeeze. I rarely trust a thing he has to say. Granted, as much as I love him, he has lied. A few times. About incredibly stupid, mundane shit. But this distrust has spread like a disease. We've almost broken up over it at least once. I have serious, serious issues because I think EVERYONE is lying to me.

This is precisely why it's so wicked. He managed to not only fuck with me for 7 years total, but he is still fucking with me. And unless I get some SERIOUS therapy, he will continue to do so for the rest of my life.

Well, now that I'm done with that, I can feel safe to not post for...oh, 8 years.

Tune in next week....it'll be shorter (I hope) and I'll be the spotlight of Wicked Wednesday next time. I love hanging my flaws and the horrid thingsI do out there for judgement.

if you needed further proof that I'm a total douchebag....

2009-11-17T21:16:00.000-08:00

I completely became a follower of my own blog. Which may actually come in handy, seeing as how I'm so forgetful.

"Oh, would you look at that? I posted a new blog! I'd better go read it to make sure I'm not an asshole."

I can't believe I make fun of my dad for being so ridiculously and adorably inept when it comes to computers...yet i not only follow MYSELF, but have no idea how to remove myself from my own subscribers list.

I think I'll let myself stay...I might not be able to handle my own rejection.

Ever work in a meatlocker before?

2009-11-17T18:52:00.000-08:00

Oy. So today has been a day. Work was pretty busy, but I got almost all of my purchase orders done and I did all of the inventory transfers. That cuts down on most of the catch up work I will need to do at the end of the month.

The Boy has been having horrible nosebleeds, so his doctor told us to get him a humidifier and rub vaseline in his nose before bed. She thinks it's purely due to the drastic change in climate, so we went out on a family spree and bought stuff for the house and then decided after shopping that Boston Market was may more fun than meatballs and spaghetti. It was. The Boy had one more nosebleed before bed, but hopefully we'll see those disappear by the end of the week.

At the end of this month, my paychecks should be going back to normal. The main squeeze and I are ready to move into a house now that my economy isn't going to be drained by an undeserving 31 year old that refuses to be a grown up while simultaneously hiding my daughter from me. Which reminds me that tomorrow is Wicked Wednesday, second edition!!! I have some stuff lined up, all pertaining to Ex-Lover for now. More backstory and whatnot. Unfortunately, my work computer has completely bailed on me and I can add my blog to the list of sites that's just too graphics heavy for my computer. I'm like, a step away from a commodore 64. Welcome back to 1987, my office!!

i'm listening to The Boy rattle on about the shark poster in his room while he kicks the walls and giggles to himself. I know he'll settle down in a bit, but I want to go giggle and snuggle with him. Except, now that he's two, he's too much of a big boy to give his lame old mommy hugs and kisses. He just wants to sleep with Rocket and Clyde (rocket is exactly that..a stuffed rocket plush from Little Einsteins, and Clyde is this dingy bear we got before he was born. Clyde is a member of the family and has been seen begging for scraps at the table) and will not bear the thought of mommy giving him kisses.

Ex-Lover's mother did not respond to my email telling her, in essence, what a bastard her son is. Which is not surprising. She has always been in denial about who he really is when she's not looking. But, int the lighter side of that, it means i can check my hotmail worry free again instead of having Schou Schou check it for me. I am such a puss sometimes.

In other news that is way more fun (for me, anyway) I got an email from one of my preferred venues saying that I have been selected out of a very small group of brides to get a discounted rate on having my wedding there! Which rules my life, right now. Which should also tell you how exciting my life is. I am eecited for tomorrow to find out how much I'm looking at price wise. One of the other places that I have an appointment to see after Thanksgiving is quite beautiful and very cozy (an atmosphere that I love. It looks and feels like coming home to family, and I am nothing if not all about family), but we'd be limited to only 50 people total. Now, not to pander to stereotypes, but I'm Italian-Irish and the main squeeze is Filipino-Irish. It shouldn't need to be said, but we have VERY extensive families. We could manage 50 people, but we would be excluding so many others. If only 50 people wound up coming but I could invite everyone I wanted to, I would be ok with that.

So, I won't lie. I took like, a 3 hour hiatus from writing my blog. I went and did a mad dash for grandparent presents. I think I found the perfect things, but I'm suddenly having second thoughts. My original idea was for The Boy to go apeshit with some paints and crayons and make them something wonderful(ly messy) that we could have matted and framed (our own little Picasso!) and then a couple small things. I, just now, found out the beauty of personalized photo gifts, but now run the risk of looking like I am just so damn in love with my son that I can't make a mug including the other grandchildren. What a sticky mess! I love my soon to be nieces and nephews, even though one or two of them don't really care for me (read : The main squeeze's sister is kind of a hateful nut bar, and at the very least has said some nasty things to her 16 year old concerning me and he no longer speaks to me and barely acknowledges my presence), but I don't think I should feel bad about wanting to personalize a mug so it has pictures of my son on it. Yet, I do. Well, I've got tons of time to figure this shit out, Christmas is still a month and a half away (gulp!).

I am fucking freezing balls right now, and I'm going to watch Heroes with the Main Squueze. Tomorrow is Wicked Wednesday, I'm excited to dig up nasty parts of my history and share them!

If she didn't laugh, I would cry

2009-11-16T20:43:00.000-08:00

I only started this blog a few days ago. Almost a week, maybe a week. But I started this blog with no real purpose, except I wanted to share my grief over losing my daughter and mindlessly ramble about planning my wedding, maybe share some stories about my family. Right now, I'm going to share about my other one and only.

I have been sort of lax about posting on SITS and joining other blogging communities to get myself out there, and I still complain that as of right now, I only have one follower. My other one and only. What a stupid thing to complain about in light of her blog. She called me earlier today and The Boy was being a bit of a turd, so I told her I'd call her back. I didn't, I fed my son and watched Jeopardy with him and then cleaned my house. I am ashamed, today, to admit I forgot. I have always known when she needed me. Always. She's been my best friend for 12 years, and has seen me through my best and worst times. We have shared nearly everything, and I can hear it in her voice when she is distressed. Today, I was so focused on my son that I didn't listen to her tone and said I'd call her back without realizing how important it was that I didn't.

I just came back from reading her blog, and I feel like shit. I feel like this is the first time she may have needed my comfort and I didn't give it to her.

My other one and only has been trying to have a baby for the last 13 months, and has been having troubles. I know her husband very well (he's my cousin), and I know he's wanted a baby. I know HER very well, and I know she wants a baby, too. With all that it could entail...the vomiting, the weight gain, the pain of labor...she wants it. I am constantly praying for her. She has expressed to me that she has once or twice gotten bitter uterus when certain people say certain things about their children or pregnancy, but that her SMALL amounts of bitterness have never applied to me. I have never given that a second thought, because one thing we do not do is lie to each other. But today, I have bitter uterus. I am angry at myself for being blessed with two children, I am angry at myself for having 5 abortions, I'm angry at myself for the one for sure miscarriage I've had, and I am angry at myself for getting my tubes tied. My uterus has been a veritable garden of babies, and I have taken advantage.

I am about to lose custody of my daughter. Not just custody, but my parental rights. I will never have any more right to my daughter. She will be disappearing from my life forever, or at least until things don't add up and she comes looking for me. I had her 6 years ago, I left 4 years ago, and I have missed every day since. I have made mistakes with my daughter, and right now, I am bitter and angry that I wasted such a precious thing and won't have anything to show for my work. I am thinking of all of the things I have done with my daughter, and all of the things I've not done...all the pictures I haven't taken, the birthday parties I haven't been present for...the Christmas mornings where I've missed the radiant smile I know she has, because she got it from me...the first days of school. Everything. I am thinking about them today more than ever because I know that my other one and only wouldn't have missed these things. Had she been Rhyann's mother, she would have taken these pictures and made birthday cakes and bought balloons and read bedtime stories while softly brushing her hair out of her eyes and kissing her forehead, whispering how much she loved her. She wouldn't have made such monumental mistakes. But I did. It is so incredibly sad to me that I was given such a blessing...a blessing I squandered, and there is nothing I can do for her.

Bestest : If i could, I would take every second backward and make sure it was you that had Rhyann. She was someone I obviously didn't deserve, and it breaks my heart that someone as deserving and wanting as you is struggling to make this a reality. I want this for you so badly, so I can watch you be the mother I never was to my own daughter and am barely beginning to be for my son. I am ashamed of myself for flaunting my son, for lack of a better word. I don't do it on purpose, but I will make such a big deal about how he's counting to ten at two years old and singing songs and dancing, and I feel guilt for that for the first time ever. I have selfishly paraded around my children. I have called you crying when Ex-lover is being a douchebag and never stopped to think that, even though you are my dearest friend, and you are the closest to a soulmate I will find outside of the main squeeze, perhaps I shouldn't cry about this so loudly, because I at least have the daughter to cry about. I have never ever felt guilt about my ability to have children, because I know God has a plan. I won't pretend to know it, but He does. It isn't helping either of us right now. I do feel guilty, and believe this : I would give you every pregnancy I had and have no children myself if I could. I know it isn't logical, but not being able to make this better for you terrifies me. I can't do anything to make this ok for you, and today, I cry with you. I cry for everything you don't yet have and everything I do have and rarely give thanks for.

Children are incredibly intuitive, schou schou face. And children never say something they don't mean. I fully believe what Javon says, because I know you, and you get what you want. I will continue to pray for you, and I will continue to wish that it had been you that had Rhyann instead of me. I am so sorry that's not how it was.

My legs don't bend that way

2009-11-14T12:20:00.000-08:00

It's my four year anniversary!!!! The Main Squeeze and I have a nice day planned. We are sans Boy this weekend, so we slept until 10:30 this morning, I made a quiche for breakfast, and we're going to go to our favorite chinese place (Silver Pond!!!!! Best fried cheesecake in the world) for lunch. Tonight, I'm making twice baked potatoes, salad, and london broil with a delish dijon mustard glaze. We bout a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale with honey mustard dijon specific for the occasion, and then it's saucy game time. I kind of want to go get a little bit of rum, because I haven't had a drink in awhile. The main squeeze just nixed that idea and reminded me that my other boyfriend (The Captain. He's my longest relationship, and I love him just as much now as I did 7 years ago) is sitting in the refrigerator, unused and unloved. I'll make sure he gets plenty of affection this evening.

So, I thought it would be genius to use our anniversary to check out one of the wedding places I wanted to see , but the weather is raining on my parade. Well, it's foggy and snowing on my parade. My car sucks balls, so I don't want to push her buttons and drive in shitty weather for over an hour. i'll reschedule, though, and I want to take pictures so I can make a scrap book. My little sister Angel has gotten me into scrapbooking, and I really, really enjoy it. I love to do creative things.

The main squeeze and I promised each other that we would use internets and TV sparsely this weekend, so I believe we're off to go have lunch and just be together. I'm looking forward to taking a nap (naps!!!!!! They're not just for kids anymore!) and curling up with my book and snuggling up to my main squeeze. But first, I believe I have a sexy cupcake to ogle.

Join in the fight for the microphone

2009-11-12T21:13:00.000-08:00

In a show of true intentions, I joined The Knot and I am starting the undertaking of planning my wedding. which means....it's almost over! And The Knot has a great ticker letting me know how many days I have until post-wedding stress sets in. The main squeeze is being as proactive as he can, but he says he trusts me (read : Doesn't want to do much, but is happy to answer questions I put forth), and I will seriously put in all of my effort to giving us the greatest wedding in the world. Our anniversary is Saturday...four years! That rules. Each one of them happy, too. At least on my end. We have our spats, and we get into some serious arguments, but aside from ym children, he is without a doubt THE love of my life. Plus, he still rocks my world. You know....sexually.

I've already gotten my dad to promise to pay for my wedding dress (and I am taking a short hiatus to remind him of that right now. And wouldn't you know it...he was asleep. Well, that effectively gave me a guilt trip. Note to self : Postpone monetary reminder) and I think I already have a venue chosen. It's completely adorable, and I want to make an appointment to see it. I'm thinking of seeing if we can go on Saturday while driving long distances is still a possibility.

which reminds me, the snow is looming. I can feel it, up there in the air...just waiting to fuck with me and ruin my sleep. Fucking snow. I am so in love with snow on the weekends when I don't have to drive, but people in Colorado drive like douchebags in the snow, just speeding all over the place and giving me dirty looks while I snail my way across the icy streets. I can't help it, I have precious cargo. Oh, and did I mention I'm a pussy about driving in the snow? Yeah. While I do care about The Boy's well being, I am more afraid of spinning out. Which I do quite frequently. Ugh. Luckily, we're still having unseasonably nice weather right now, but I think my fairytale is ending as of this weekend. But that's ok, I get to dress The Boy in his adorable winter clothes, which tickles me to no end.
What a cute kid!!!!

I am seriously looking forward to every inch of this wedding planning business now. I haven't been this excited over it to date, and I am most looking forward to the following : Seeing my friends and family (you'd better be coming, Juliebear! We'll hunt you down!), feeling gloriously beautiful, and watching both of my boys be too gorgeous for words in their tuxes. But I can't help but feel nagging little pangs of sadness that my daughter will not be there to share in my joy. I'm thinking of maybe having her picture there, big where everyone can see it. Though in my head, that plays out looking like she died or something. I'll h ave to think of something better. I'm also looking forward to speeches. I wept like a child when I gave my bestest her wedding speech. Plus, I was like, 8 feet pregnant, so as an ensemble piece, I must have looked a hot mess. But bestest will be totally pretty, hurray!

I think my family is holding secret bets about this not ever happening. Before I met the main squeeze, I told everyone...constantly...that I was not the marrying type. I wasn't, either. Everything about marriage scared the balls off of me. it still does, but main squeeze makes it all better somehow. I manage to be both afraid and totally certain everything will be perfect.

It's late, and I'm writing a fairly short and uninteresting blog today, but there it is!!! I'm sure I'll be overflowing with things to say tomorrow, but I want to get involved with The Knot. I have a feeling we're going to be best friends.

I love how you're hot and sexy, with those hips so anorex-y.......

2009-11-11T21:25:00.000-08:00

I was listening to some seriously old (and lame...while also managing to be secretly enjoyable) pop music from when I was a wee teenager this afternoon. I think it started with a conversation about sexy math, and that led to finding several videos to trade with my bestest. I remembered how poorly I heard lyrics when I was that age, and how I will still defiantly belt out lines like "Let me feel you up" when that is clearly not what's being said. The main squeeze came up with the blog post title when I told him a certain band had a song called Hot and Sexy. It was all in good fun.

The main squeeze and I have been officially engaged now for a few months, and planning has been stagnant, for several reasons. One, I put everything in my life on hold to fight for my daughter, and I'm also incredibly, incredibly lazy and unmotivated. I feel sort of guilty for that, because as a woman I should be desperate to have my wedding. And in all honesty, I really am. When I can't sleep at night, I think about the day my wedding is finally here, from the time I wake up to whatever point in the "day" I fall asleep. It usually starts off with Amber and my Mommy and my Sybsie waking me up telling me it's my wedding day, and then we all scream for awhile before running errands. And it does get me to sleep. I feel so peaceful thinking about my wedding day. But at the same time, I am hesitant to actually plan it for real (I've planned everything, I just haven't put anything in motion) because that means, once the plans begin and the money starts pouring out, that it's almost over. I feel like the world is ending every night when I go to sleep knowing I have nothing t look forward to in the next few weeks/months. It drives me nuts and makes me depressed. But, after telling The Bestest that I would kill to get married at the Biltmore, I am going to look at a few wedding things this evening before I go to bed. The Main Squeeze is playing his newly purchased Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 and spazzing out in nerdy delight, so I will do the same.

We've run through the motions of where to have the wedding, and we both like the idea of Las Vegas, because it's where our relationship really, truly started. But I can't help but feel that Vegas has this transitory feel to it when it comes to weddings. When you think Vegas wedding, you don't think classic and everlasting, you think drunk and ridiculous. So, there's a bit of hesitancy on my part there. There's a place here in the Springs that I am falling in love with more and more, and I'm seriously thinking of setting an appointment to go see it. The main squeeze and I are kind of apathetic about the whole wedding crazies business. We're both laid back and relaxed people, and I'd feel strange about acting out all of these self-imposed obligations to be fucking stoked about a doily or a napkin ring or a fucking tree that makes the skyline look like a Kincade canvas.

BUT.

I HAVE gotten seriously weepy over.....wedding dresses. And I have long had mine picked out. I've tried it on several times, and I cry each and every time I slip it on. I look at myself and I feel like the most beautiful woman in America. When I'm in my wedding dress, I finally see what the main squeeze sees, and it's radiant and explosive. But I always put it back and I never put down the cash. I'm not sure if I'm ready. But, with my life finally settling down and being "unburdened" of my ex-lover and his lackadaisical attitude towards being a working citizen that contributes to scoiety rather than leeching off of it, I am bubbling up with excitement to start REALLY planning my wedding. I've been wearing my engagement ring (which is lovely. It was my grandmother's wedding ring. She passed away before I was born, and my mom wanted Allen to give it to me. I fell in love the second I saw it) and when people see it and ask about how the plans are going, when is the date, I just sort of nod andd smile and say "oh, you know...things are up in the air because life is crazy!" and I'm almost tired of saying it. I WANT to be the bubbling bride to be that shares things and makes plans and knows they are more than tentative. So, with that thought in my head, I will be setting out on the journey to plan, budget, and attend my OWN WEDDING.

I'm such an adult.

Welcome to Wicked Wednesday!

2009-11-11T13:19:00.000-08:00

So, my best friend told me about having one set day a week where you do the same thing in your blog. A little weekly ritual. I'm doing Wicked Wednesdays. Every Wednesday, I'll write about something incredibly wicked that's happened to me, and I will pretend that everyone cares. Ready, set, go.

In that rather gloomy looking picture is myself and my ex. Please don't be taken aback by the angle of the picture making me look like a tranny. I promise, all girly parts are and always have been there. A bit of back story on the ex-lover and I :

Him - awkward chubby dude that lived in the building across from my apartment in Las Vegas.
Me - Obviously stunning girl that thought he was totally interested in my best friend.

Him - Ridiculously good at very literally charming the pants off of anyone.
Me - Very willing to take my pants off.

Him - 23 (at the time) and living with some grody dudes, selling pot and living the high life (ha! puns!)
Me - 17 (at the time) and living with my roommate, doing practically any drug given to me and not really thinking much about the penis I allowed myself to enjoy INCREDIBLY frequently.

Him - Able to con me into caring while being the most horrible fucking boyfriend ever.
Me - Refusing to recognize what a dick face he was being, and continuing to make myself find things to love him for.

That about sums it up, at least for the beginning of our relationship. I wasn't able to drink at the bars he went to because I was underage, he didn't want to spend time in the sandbox with a child, etc, so we never shared the same activities. We also never shared the same ideals, ie monogomy. Which is ironic, considering that it was him that wanted to make everything exclusive. Funny how that works. Anyway, we had a baby together 6 years ago. Her name is Rhyann Krystine Dana and she is seriously the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen in my life. We split 4 years ago and some change, and I left where we lived and moved out of state sans child. This all gets complicated, and I will save it for another wicked Wednesday, I promise (incentive to stay tuned!). Anyway, he's kept her hidden from me with the help of his girlfriend and family. I have been damn near destitute and have had to wait to be able to afford a lawyer, and I eventually did. I pushed for joint custody, and ex lover brought out the big guns: money. With said cash (from another family member, because he can't do things on his own), he filed a motion to have my parental rights taken away. Aaaaaaand, now I'm prepared to officially go into a Wicked Wednesday post.

I spoke to my lawyer on Monday, because we had yet to hear from ex-lover's lawyer, and we were set for court on Tuesday. Since I made the decision to relinquish my parental rights, I have been stressing over whether or not I need to appear in court. I didn't, and James even managed to get ex-lover's lawyer to appear in court for both of them (himself and my lawyer), which saves me a bunch of skrill and saves my lawyer a ton of time. Both good things in my book. So, the end result of the conversation was James telling me that in 30 days, give or take, this fiasco will all be O-V-E-R. Of course, that means more bad things than good things. I will no longer be allowed any kind of access to my daughter. While I've had to literally beg for photos and phone calls and any kind of information over the last four years, at least Iwould eventually get it if I persisted enough. Now, I won't even have that. Ex-love is the kind of man that does things out of spite, and his spite will burn your fucking face off. I know I won't even get so much as an update. I won't be acknowledged as even her birth mother. Again, this is par for the course. I'm used to it, though it doesn't mean I like it or have accepted it. I've just grown accustomed and been quietly irked for fear that ex-lover and his lovely familia would decide to shut me out completely. No, instead little miss yokel herself will continue her charade parade, and everybody will be fine with that.

Since the final stages are drawing to a close in hardly the fashion I had imagined, I decided that I needed to make a few things clear to Ex-Lover and his slack ass of a girlfriend. So, I wrote them a letter that I am having sent over with all of the finalized paperwork, and it goes a little something like this :

Ex-Lover –

This is it. You win. I am refusing to let my parental rights be forcibly taken from me, and I will instead relinquish them on my own. But there are some things that I want you to hear, because I know the second this is over you will never again speak to me or keep me in any kind of loop. Why would you, when you haven’t for the last four years when I had my parental rights? I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to be rid of me. Shame on you, Ex-Lover. Shame on you. You are a disgraceful human being, and it gives me no joy in knowing you are the father of my child. I have spent the last 7 years loving you for every reason I could think of, but I have no love for you left. Not even for being the man I had my first child with. There is no valor or honor or courage in the exhibition you have put forth the last four years. The motion you set in court is the icing on the cake, and while I will not be glad to no longer have the possibility of Rhyann, I will be grateful to be rid of you and your childish behavior. You are selfishly motivated, and I know in my heart that this isn’t truly about Rhyann, this is about you and me. Ironically, you ‘believe’ that my wanting joint custody of Rhyann was all about money. It is obscene to me that you could first make that judgment on my character and motivations when you know full well that’s not the case, and secondly have the absolute audacity to say this is about money when you are having someone else pay for this so you can outspend me. And you know I’m broke, you make several references to my lack of financial freedom. And I do not have the money to fight this battle. It is a consolation and almost laughable that you don’t, either. Were you a decent, hard working man that could fight his own fight without resorting to someone else with deep pockets doing it for you, I’m sure this would be a different matter altogether. But the fact is, you’re not. I shudder thinking about my daughter growing up in a house bankrupt of morals. I hope that the best of me takes over in Rhyann, and she doesn’t grow up to be like you; Content to have someone else shoulder her burdens for the rest of her life. You’re 31 years old. When are you going to grow up and take care of things yourself instead of relying on others to do it for you? Is this really the example you want to set for not just our daughter, but the other children in the home as well? You give yourself too much credit when you say you take care of Rhyann 100% of the time. The state takes care of her. You and NewishYokel Girlfriend are just glorified babysitters, and until you recognize that it takes honesty and making tough decisions and doing things you don’t want to do so your family can survive, that is all you will be. And I know that you’re fine with that, you always have been. And I hope when you’re on your boat and taking your vacations and doing whatever ridiculous things you do with your scores of free time because you can’t get a real job like everyone else that you think about the sacrifice other people have given so you can enjoy living off of the system.

I hope you think about the other things you are imparting on our daughter, as well: A lack of enjoyment for anything scholastic, simply because it is not something that you and Newish Yokel Girlfriend can do. It’s not your fault the two of you are borderline illiterate, I suppose, but you don’t seem to be driven to change that, and I have no hope that it’s something you want our daughter to overlap you on. For the record, Rhyann was still not reading the last I talked to her. At 6 years old. That’s disgraceful, and truly shows lack of effort on your part. My son is 2 and is right on the cusp of reading. Do you know why? Because I work at it. You are free to vilify me all you want, and I know you have. The truth of the matter is, I’m a good mother, and I want my children to surpass my every accomplishment. I hope that our daughter inherits that from me naturally, because you are not setting a good example for it yourself. I am fairly positive that you will do your best to forget about me the second this is over, and Newish Yokel Girlfriend will go ahead and adopt the daughter that I gave birth to. I can only imagine the things you will justify this with. But I can assure you, as I always have, that my actions are not about me not wanting my daughter, or about not wanting to pay. You have pushed me into this corner because you know money is the one thing I can’t fight back with. If this were about the law, there is no question about the interference you have bogged me and my daughter’s relationship with, to the extent where Horribly Backwards and Not Well Liked Step-father, who went ahead and put his hand in this lovely little cookie jar, told me himself that when you found out he was sneaking me pictures and information that he was no longer welcomed in your home, and that you also cut him off from Rhyann. I can’t imagine why he would lie to me about that if you truly wanted me to have access to my daughter and her daily life. To having your own mother tell me, when I needed your address to get papers served to you, that she couldn’t go behind your back and give your address to me. You know what truly happened here, so congratulations if you can fool everyone else. But I know the truth, you know the truth, and one day our daughter will as well.

While I may be begrudgingly signing my rights away and giving Newish Yokel Girlfriend the freedom to adopt Rhyann, I hope the both of you remember that no signature can take away from me the fact that I gave birth to her, and I will always be her mother. No matter what paper says, no signature in the world can change the fact that you had Rhyann with me, not Newish Yokel Girlfriend. No lies that you tell Rhyann about Newish Yokel Girlfriend being her real mom will change that, either. And because of that, Rhyann will grow up and look more and more like me, and this will mean that you have to look me and your grievously sinful actions in the face day after day. I hope you are prepared to live with that.

I have sacrificed so much just so I could come this far and be forced to throw in the towel. My great-grandmother, whose death you saw me mourn and watched me while I cried, left me the money I used to pay for my lawyer, and I made up the balance. That money was intended for me to use for my wedding, or my schooling, or buying a house. I gave all of that up so I could be reunited with my daughter, and your underhanded selfishness has ripped that away from me. Be satisfied, because your happiness will not last long. I have paid the price for my mistakes, and I will continue to pay for them by not being able to even HOPE about Rhyann living with me ever again. But I have every faith that God will turn my pain and my sacrifices into something glorious, and I will have something good to show for what I’ve done. I also have every faith that Rhyann will come looking for me one day, because she will remember, and she will find out that I am her birth mother, even if you do your best to hide it. The truth has a funny way of surfacing, and when it does…it will be your turn to reap what you have sown. Enjoy your shallow, heartless victory, and enjoy your new life free of someone else having the audacity to try and share Rhyann’s. That part is over for you.

Even though I know you will wipe me out of your thoughts, I will continue to hope the full brunt of what you have done will weigh heavily on your heart, and I hope that you and Shila both think of me every single day for the rest of your lives. I will continue to hope that you will soon realize I started this out trying to play fair. I bided my time and did the best I could with the circumstances I had, and all I asked for was not even 50 percent of Rhyann’s time. I asked to be informed of everything that went on with my daughter, and you cruelly told me that you didn’t think I needed to know. I had to go to court to get your address, and you know I have had no idea where you lived. Sleep well covered in your lies, and continue to build foundations for yourself and your family on laziness, lack of courage, and a sorely underdeveloped sense of right and wrong. I will continue to work hard, earn everything I own, trust in God, and love my daughter fiercely.

So, that's the mark I want to officially end the 'relationship' that ex-lover and I had. His continued actions for the last four plus years have been extremely wicked, and I'm sure he will take up my Wicked Wednesdays for years to come.

So, to sum up. Today's Wicked Action : Being forced to give up my daughter. Today's way of coping with it : Not applicable.

Until next Wednesday!

Author's Note : I realize that I am leaving out huge, huge chunks of the story. They will surface, I promise. But I would have to write an entire novel to get it all out in one sitting. Any questions, go ahead and ask!!! I'm fairly open about all of this, and please don't be put off by my attempts at humor to diffuse what is other wise a heartbreaking situation. It's the only way for me to pull through without breaking down every ten seconds.

This situation is why I started this in the first place, so please. If you're going through a similar situation, now is the time to commiserate and find comfort and understanding you might not get anywhere else.

One more time, for the cheap seats in the back

2009-11-10T20:37:00.001-08:00

My best friend has gotten me addicted to blogging. Admittedly, I have an addictive personality. Luckily, it doesn't extend to heroin or crack (I agree wholeheartedly, Whitney...crack IS whack). I do have a long standing love of nicotine, but that's really it. I mean I get addicted to things like apps. FB farming is so entirely mindless and fulfilling I could pee. And now, I am seeing myself droning on and on about my mundane life because I have a superiority complex. That masquerades as an inferiority complex. It's complicated.

The main squeeze and I got into an intense argument today. We don't have blow outs very often, but when we do, they always end up with very heated tradings of "Why are you with me?" "NO, why the fuck are you with ME?". Now, I have a small problem with arguing. And not just that I love to do it. Because I do. But I can't take it seriously, even when I'm mad. I have this aggravating tendency to giggle and do my best to angrily swallow smiles and it makes me hate my face. It refuses to stay outwardly pissed and instead does it's best to drag me into it's facial shenanigans. And my face wins every time. I'll feel my stupid mouth twitch upwards and I can feel the giggles determinedly marching up my throat, and then, right when I feel I have control and can once again look as fully angry as I obviously am, I fucking laugh. I get lulled into a false sense of security and wind up laughing at the most inopportune times. Which makes the squeeze furious. And I can't blame him. I'm angry. But more because he won the pissed off face contest and I lost. Stupid fucking face. It is constantly my downfall.

What kills me is how our most intense arguments are over the most trivial things. Now, I love the squeeze, in a very desperate and Harlequin fashion. As in, he sets my loins ablaze and makes my vaginal throat parch with desire, my life is dust without him, fill in the blank. but for fuck's sake, I am going to argue with him about the fact that I find his lust for video games fucking retarded. But, because I feel the need to blare these thoughts to the world (which I do, I'm a hideous gossip about my love life to anyone who listens), it's an issue and I talk shit about his interests. I am a horrible main squeeze.

After reading my best friend's blog, I have decided that I too will partake in an alliterated day to post about something specific. Tomorrow will be Wicked Wednesday. One, because I'm lame, and two, because the reason I started this blog in the first place is because of the truly wicked acts I have witnessed in the last few years. Oh, I'm excited for Wicked Wednesday!!!!!

What if I'm actually an orangutan?

2009-11-10T18:10:00.000-08:00

So, my son's newest favorite game is to climb on my back and cling to me while I drag my poor, broken body all across the house. My son is astonishingly huge (I'm 5'9 and my fiance is 6'2. Our son is already almost 3 and a half feet tall. Also, he is completely solid) and at two years old, his play demands are frequent and must be acknowledged. So, I'm carting him around and he is clinging and giggling all over the place, and since I've had two children and already have the saggy boobs, all I'm missing is the orange hair. And with the way my dye jobs have been going lately, I'm getting frighteningly close to being the mother monkey I often feel like.

There is always something going on in my house, and right now is no exception. My son is winding down for night night so we're about to watch an episode of Wonderpets, and my fiance in a bastard attempt to fuck with me plays The FreshBeat Band instead. Anybody with preschool children knows how horrible these automatons with instruments are. Friends give friends a hand my ass...I'll give them a balled up fist to the face. I despise them.

In truly manic and never the same fashion, our current worry is what to get everyone for christmas. We already know what we want to get for our son (it's this incredibly bad ass train set. he has discovered he loves trains), so that's one person down, a million to go. I'm setting my concentration on my fiance's nephew Drew. he's a precocious 11 year old and I never know what to get him. I am a consummate bad present buyer, and last year, I bought him this incredibly cool paper airplane book that showed you how to make super rad airplanes. Like an F-16. Was it a hit? Nope. Fail on me. But this year, I have my sights set on a carnivorous plant dome. It is incredibly cool, and Drew has an interest in plants. We'll see how it goes.

What's gonna work? Teamwork. I love the lessons that I, as an adult, can learn from children's television. For instance, Ming Ming the duck just let me know that the queen bee is the biggest bee that any bee can be, and my son is running around the living room and bzzzzzzzbzzzzzz bzzzzzzing at me. What a cute.

Let's make music together

2009-11-10T09:26:00.000-08:00

So, after months of salacious flirting with the blog idea, I've given in. I just couldn't resist temptation any longer. I don't really know what I'm doing or what I hope to accomplish. Scratch that, I know what I want to accomplish. I want to be heard. And um, not judged.

I don't think I have a specific point, but I know there are specific points I want to touch (ok, fondle furiously) upon.

Some background on me, because I never can seem to stop talking about myself (and I think that's why I gave in to having a blog. I can talk about myself all day and not feel guilty for one second). I'm 25 years old, I live in Colorado Springs with my fiance and our son Gabriel (two and utterly adorable) and our three silly kitties, Johnny, Galouli, and Spectre. I also have a 6 year old daughter named Rhyann that I haven't seen in four years, and that's for an entirely different episode.

Mainly, the last year has been the most trying, self-showing and gut wrenching year I've ever experienced. Because of these built up woes, I have thankfully been reunited with God, and for that I am grateful for the hearthaches. I have also learned who I am and what my strengths and weaknesses are, and how to stand up and take responsibility for my actions, even if they're actions that are less than note worthy (again, extremely grateful). I guess, to bring it all full circle, I am starting this blog with extreme delusions of grandeur - I am hoping to gain followers who, like me, are going through their own tribulations and are on the brink of giving up hope.

There is always hope.